The Stasis Box

Erotic short. A prisoner is frozen in time with his holes still accessible for the crew of a mining vessel to use.

5k, rated E, trans M/cis M but hundreds of other people. A trans twink agrees to be involved in an experiment in lieu of his year-long prison sentence — he’s placed in a stasis box, frozen in time, with his holes still accessible for the crew of a mining vessel to make use of.

This is honestly one of the most fucked-up things I’ve ever written, it goes big on the sci-fi body horror fucky horniness.

Full consent is given throughout, the twink knows what he’s in for. Featuring medical kink, fingering, anal and vaginal fingering and sex, sensitivity, time stop, big overstimulation, mind-break and ahegao, objectification, huge come inflation, gaping, come vomiting, general degradation.

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“Come on, Iz, wanna show you something,” says Law Ripley, and Isadore follows after him as he leads the way to one of the observation decks. “I went to school with one of the medbay techs,” he says, waggling his eyebrows as they head up the stairs, and Izzy laughs under his breath as he nudges a panel, making a hidden door open up.

Izzy vaguely knows where they are as they head through the panel, ducking their heads because it doesn’t open as high as the proper doors do — they’ve come through a backway over one of the decom units in the infirmary. Iz is familiar with them, has been in and out of decontamination a few dozen times in his three years of mining experience, not to mention the occasional times he needed to go through decom when entering some space stations.

Down through the glass roof of the decom bay, Izzy can see that while one of the bays is running the usual decom showers, this one has some kind of table posed in the middle of it, and a few guys in uniform have a prisoner with them.

The suits aren’t cops or troopers from what Izzy can see — they’re in prisoner transport, maybe, or they’re guards at one of the incarceration units on Luna B.

He knows the Luna B prison uniforms, has worked on mining ops before where they have prisoners doing some of the hard labour, running drills, running transports, shit like that.

The pretty boy in the decom bay doesn’t look like a miner to Izzy, doesn’t look like he’d pass the basic fitness and proficiency exams to take a mining detail, unless he’s got cybernetic enhancements going on under his skinny frame.

He’s young and pretty, maybe the same age as Izzy or a little younger, with red hair and freckles across his nose and his cheeks, a round face, brown eyes, maybe green. They haven’t got him cuffed or bound, and he’s leaning back against the table with his arms crossed over his chest and his body kind of hunched forward as the three suits bustle around him.

One of them is going through a sheet of paperwork line by line, the other is going through something else on a tech pad, and the twink is replying to each question they ask him with short, simple answers. They’re both tall men, chiselled types, one a brunet and the other with black hair — the brunet has his hair up in a bun, and the black-haired one has shorter hair, tightly curled.

The third is a medical tech, Izzy guesses.

“What is this, Law?” asks Izzy, and Law looks at him sideways, gives him a wink.

“Isadore Valencia, you are looking at the future of ship-wide entertainment, brought you to by the Luna B Secure Prisoner Unit.”

Izzy is about to ask another question when the twink pushes himself off the table and unzips the front of prisoner suit, shrugging it off his skinny shoulders and dropping it to his ankles. He pulls his vest off over his head and shimmies his shorts down his thighs.

For a second, Izzy thinks the twink’s just got a tiny dick, but then he sits back in an examination chair one of the suits brings over, leaning back in it and spreading his legs apart, feet in the stirrups, so one of them can put on a pair of gloves and examine him. He’s not a hairy lad by any stretch of the word, only has a neatly trimmed landing strip over his cunt like an arrow pointing down and the hair on his head.

His cunt is pretty and pink, has a glisten to it that Izzy can see even from up here, but fuck, he wishes that the observation balcony was a little lower, or that his vision was a little better, that he could see it nice up close.

Law flicks a switch on the control panel, turning on the sound relay.

“… quick physical exam,” says one of the suits, spreading the twink’s lips apart with two thumbs. Izzy’s mouth is dry as he slides one finger down the opening of his pussy, making the twink let out a little whine. “Sensitive, aren’t you? You come easy, Levinson?”

“Do I have to answer that?” asks Levinson in a low voice as he stares off to the right, and then moans quietly as the medical tech slides one of his fingers into his open cunt, slowly moving it around the edge of his pussy on the inside. Izzy’s mouth goes dry, thinking about how it must feel, how wet he must be inside, his little cunt clenching around the finger.

“No, you don’t,” muses the medical tech, and presses up on the roof of his cunt. The twink arches his back with a loud keen of noise, his toes curling, his hands gripping tight at the arms of the chair and his thighs spreading open. “No guesses why you signed up for this, lad. You know you won’t be able to feel it while you’re in stasis, right?”

“Uh huh,” says the twink stuntedly, breathing heavily, and grunts in more discomfort than pleasure as the tech slides a speculum forward and slides it into his pussy, cranking it open.

“Sorry about this, I won’t have to do this with your ass,” the tech says. “I just need to get this swab off your cervix — the one in your ass I won’t need to swab so deeply. That’s it, all done.” The tech puts some more lube on his fingers, but Izzy thinks he probably wouldn’t even need it, his finger is glistening so wet just from Levinson’s pussy.

He starts to massage the tiny pink furl of his asshole with his wet fingers, rubbing at it in a little circle, and he’s patient about it, too, rubs and rubs until the twink is squirming, letting out little breath-hitched grunts, his hips tipping up and into the touch.

“Stop playing with him, Evo, just get the swabs and lube him up,” says one of the other suits, and Evo laughs.

He’s a jolly-looking man, bald-headed with an overbite and light-coloured eyes, fat. Izzy hasn’t seen him around before, but he’s got an energy that Izzy likes, playful, easy. Avuncular.

“I’m getting him prepared, Jones, would you chill a bit?” says Evo. “We want both of these handsome little holes well-prepared before he goes in the box.”

“The box?” Izzy repeats in a whisper, and Law just nudges him, nods for him to keep watching, keep listening.

“Thank you,” whispers the twink, and Evo chuckles, reaching up and bracing one of his fingers over the twink’s mons after swiping his thumb through his open cunt to get it nice and wet. The twink moans as Evo gently flicks the head of his hard prick, a fat one — Izzy’s seen cuntboys with larger dicks than this, ones who’ve had surgeries to bring it out a bit or to give them a longer dick, but this one is fat and thick, even though it’s still short and hugging flat against his body. The thing’s like a little gobstopper, big enough to really suck on — no wonder he comes so easy.

As he keeps playing with the twink’s dick, strumming it like an instrument back and forth, up and down, swirling it around a few times, Evo keeps massaging his asshole with his finger before slowly sinking in.

The twink groans, his eyes closing, his feet fidgeting in the stirrups.

“You had it up the ass before, Levinson?”

“Yessir,” Levinson grunts, his hips rocking down and into Evo’s hands. “Are you gonna fuck me?”

“Christ, he’s eager,” says the brunet suit, laughing. “You sure we should be letting him do this? It’s not exactly going to be a punishment for him.”

“They picked him for this because he volunteered, Pinter,” is the reply from the black-haired one. “You shouldn’t be surprised he’s a slut.”

Levinson whines as Evo adds another lubed-up finger, scissoring them and stretching his asshole out a bit before putting in a third and thrusting them in deeper. He does it a few times, thrusting the fingers into him, and Izzy stares hungrily down at him, sees his wet pussy wink as he clenches down, his fat little dick jerking and twitching under Evo’s thumb.

He moans a complaint when Evo takes it away from his cock, grabbing another of the swabs and taking a sample from inside his ass, and then he puts the swabs from both his pussy and his ass aside.

He grabs a syringe then, pumping lube right into Levinson’s ass, and Levinson lets out a sharp howl, whining, “It’s cold, it’s cold!” and Evo laughs, slapping his ass.

“It’ll warm up, stop complaining,” Evo says with a chuckle, and sinks three fingers back into his ass again, shoving them deep in him while grabbing hold of his cock with his other hand and rubbing it hard, squeezing it.

Levinson’s orgasm is a beautiful thing, a hitching sob eking out of his throat, his whole body tremoring and shuddering, his hands gripping so tight at the armrests he’s surprised the leather doesn’t tear under his fingernails, his toes curling up, his back arching. Evo coaxes him through it, going, “That’s it, lad, there you go, good boy, there, there.”

There’s wetness leaking out of both his holes as Evo eases back, tugging off the gloves and tossing them in a bin. Izzy stares down at him, as Levinson’s flat chest rising and falling, his belly twitching with the aftershocks, his dick jumping. His open holes are clenching and winking too, so fucking pretty Izzy could take a picture and frame it.

“Okay, you’ve signed all the forms,” says Evo, “and now I’ve taken those last swabs. Gotten you nice and wet on the inside. Now, what’s gonna happen is, I’m gonna inject a solution into your arm, just to make the process easier on your body, and then I’m gonna slather you in a solution, kind of like a lubricant, okay?”

“Medicine?”

“Not exactly, it’s more insulatory,” says Evo. “The gel is just to protect your body in case something goes wrong with the stasis unit — protects you from static shocks if it suddenly shuts off, stuff like that. Puts a nice glisten on your skin for the boys to admire too.”

Levinson’s throat bobs as he swallows. He’s got pretty lips, as pink and plump as his cock is. He doesn’t look as Evo slides the needle into his arm.

“After that, we’re gonna put you into the unit and engage the stasis, make sure you’re lined up nice and accessible. There’s gonna be some nanobots working on you — those swabs I took, they’re so we know the exact flora of your insides, right? So the nanobots know what to maintain. Your holes are gonna be a year older than the rest of you once this is all done.”

“They’re gonna be a lot older than that in terms of use,” says Pinter, and the two other suits laugh — Evo doesn’t, but he does smirk.

“Will I feel it?” asks Levinson. “In the stasis unit?”

“Not while you’re in stasis,” says the black-haired one. “You’ll feel it after, though, when we pull you out. All at once.”

“Okay,” says Levinson.

“You sure?” asks Evo, raising his eyebrows. “All at once. A year, all at once.”

“I did a stint on Luna B before, just a few weeks,” says Levinson. “I can’t fucking stand it, it’s so fucking boring. I only got this sentence because I wouldn’t fuck my parole officer, so he did a framejob on me. At least this way I don’t have to actually be in the prison bouncing off the walls.”

“Bouncing off cocks, more like,” says Pinter, and Evo clucks his tongue, waving at him to keep quiet, and then gesturing for Levinson to get to his feet.

“Up you get, pretty boy,” says Evo. “Let’s get you lubed up.”

Izzy watches as Evo lathers him up with a shiny silver gel, all over his body — he spends a little extra rubbing it over his pussy, his whole hand dragging over his cock and open holes, and Levinson squirms and whines, shuddering, before Evo lathers up the rest of him, his back, his ass, his thighs and legs, his shoulders, his hair, even his face.

“Last chance to back out,” says Evo.

“It’s fine,” says Levinson, “I don’t want to back out,” and climbs into the box on the centre table.

Izzy’s seen people get put in stasis before for deep space travel, but it’s still fucking weird to witness, how utterly and completely still Levinson is inside the glass box, on his hands and knees, his eyes closed, his lips slightly parted, halfway through taking his next breath.

With a set of gauntlets on, Evo reaches into the stasis unit and repositions him, turning Levinson so he’s on his back with his legs in the air, puts his hands down by his sides, and then shoves him to the edge of the box, so that his ass is right against the side.

There’s a hole in the side of the stasis box, Izzy realises.

Perfectly-sized, just to give access to his pussy and his ass and his pretty little cock.

“Holy fuck,” says Izzy.

“This pretty little thing is coming with us on our next expedition,” says Law. “Two credits per crewmember per week, if we want to use them.”

“I want to use them,” says Izzy as he stares down at Levinson’s juicy holes, the slick on them stuck mid-drip behind the little hatch in the stasis chamber, and Law laughs, clapping him on the back.

“Let’s go,” he says, and turns off the control panel sound just after Evo says, “Well, time to test him out. Which one of you is going first?”

* * *

There are absolutely pleasure androids where you can barely even tell they’re not human, where the synthetic pussy feels just as good at the real thing, but nobody is paying to keep and maintain one of those on a deep space mining vessel like theirs, harvesting decent, dependable ores but not the real expensive stuff. The work is unionised, it’s decent, and there’s no huge risks to it, but it’s no big earner, either.

“It’s an experimental program, that’s why they’re testing it out on us, because we’re the closest mining colony to Lunar B,” Law is telling one of the new recruits, an arm wrapped around his shoulder as the three of them walk toward the leisure terminals, past the bar.

There are a hundred miners on the Usual, plus another hundred crew — techs, engineers, the medical crew, the managers. Half of them, roughly, have dicks, or something like a dick, that they like to get wet from time to time.

“He’s a prisoner sentenced to a year for breaking his parole terms, pretty little thing, twenty-four years old, name of Ira Levinson. So they put him in a little stasis chamber, box about this big, with his holes at the edge like this, so you can pull up a hatch and get at them. He stays in suspended animation, no time passing for him, no time affecting him, and we get to fuck his holes.”

“Doesn’t it break the stasis seal when you open the hatch?” asks the recruit. “Aren’t our dicks going into stasis?”

“The stasis is targeted using this injection they give him,” Izzy explains. “It’s not the box itself once the whole thing is calibrated properly — once he’s put into stasis, he doesn’t have to be in a box at all, he could just be in a room that was running the same time dilation program, and you’d be able to move him around, bend him over and backwards, stuff like that, but it’d be way easier to injure him that way. So, no. We’ll fuck him and he’ll feel nice and wet and hot and tight, but the rest of him stays in stasis, basically.”

“They given him some drugs and lathered his skin up basically to help him weather the stress,” Law says. “This is a trial run — we’ll see at the end if he pops like a fucking balloon.”

The recruit looks green, and Izzy laughs at him. His cock is hard, thinking about it — it’s been two fucking weeks since they watched Ira Levinson get put in the box, and he’s been getting himself off to the thought of it ever since, to what it will feel like to sink his cock inside him, to watch him take it when he’s not just unconscious, but utterly removed from consciousness, from his body, out of time but still right there.

How it will feel for the fucker when he gets out of stasis, and feels a year of cock, a year of come, a year of orgasms, all at once.

“Just think about it, Dixon,” murmurs Law. “Say out of the hundred and ten be-cocked crewmembers on this ship, a hundred of them fuck this little lad. Average semen output in a human is between 1.5 and 5 millilitres. Let’s go for the average of the average — let’s say the average crewmember comes 3.25 millilitres per ejaculation. We each get 2 credits to spend in one of the pleasure units per week — let’s say every one of us spends 1 a week on him.”

“That’s 325 millilitres of semen a week,” says Izzy.

“Over a litre per month,” Law agrees.

“Just under seventeen litres over the year we got him.”

“And come on, Dixon,” murmurs Law, leaning in and murmuring right in the recruit’s ear — he’s already fucking him, Izzy is pretty sure, and probably will for another few weeks before he gets bored. “You think some people are gonna spend their credits elsewhere on toys when there’s a real, hot set of holes to fuck?”

Izzy runs ahead and swipes his card, hearing the bloop-bloop of the credit payment going through, and winks at Law and Dixon before he crosses the threshold and heads into the little bay.

There’s only one person allowed inside at a time, and the lights are down low and have a golden tint to them, so that Levinson’s head of ginger hair and his little landing strip look almost blond until he steps closer, sees how red they are.

Fuck, but he’s pretty.

He looks like he could be sleeping, his eyes closed and his lips just slightly parted like that, his head back on the floor of the stasis box. He slides open the hatch and looks at the holes on show, his wet cunt, his fat little prick, his wet and slightly open asshole. Izzy sucks on his fingers and puts them forward, swiping them very slowly either side of his hole, stroking down the pink, wet folds of his pussy.

It’s gloriously warm to the touch, and as he circles the entrance of his hole with the tip of his finger he laughs breathlessly at the way it reflexively twitches, the muscle clenching.

The lights might be off, and Levinson might not be home, but his pussy is still alive and running, and Izzy wants to feel it come around him. How will that feel, as easy as this guy comes, when he’s reanimated?

How many people have fucked him already? How many loads are in him, compressed into that weird little fold of flattened, frozen time, already? Enough to pour out of him? Enough to give him a little paunch?

Levinson was slutty as hell when Doctor Evo was playing with him, and Izzy imagines what it might be like having him for real, outside of stasis, being able to slide his cock into Levinson’s mouth and feel his pink lips part, feel the clench and shudder of his throat as Izzy choked him on it.

He wonders if the boy is so slutty he could come just from that — probably.

He doesn’t bother with the pretence of it, doesn’t fuck Levinson with his fingers just yet — he unzips his work trousers, pulls out his hard cock, braces his hands on the glass of the box and shoves his cock in all the way.

Fuck, but he’s good, tight like a vice grip around him, hot and wet and clenching down on him, and Izzy moans, closing his eyes for a second and just letting himself adjust, letting himself enjoy it as he feels the beautiful heat all around him. He bets Levinson would moan really fucking pretty if he was awake right now — this position is nice, his legs spread apart and his knees up either side of his chest, his heels either side of his ass, tilted forward so that Izzy can get good access, so that he can sink all the way inside.

He slowly pulls back, feeling the sweet grip of Levinson’s boycunt around him, and then drives himself in again. The sound of it rings through the room, the slap of his balls against the underside of Levinson’s ass, and fuck, but Izzy wishes a bit more of him was bared, wishes he could grab and squeeze it, slap it, watch it jiggle. He’s got a pretty generous ass, pretty thick thighs, for being such a skinny guy, and it’s tantalising, seeing them there behind the glass, so close but so far away.

Evo was right — there is a pretty glisten on his skin from the gel, making him look like he’s worked up a sweat.

He starts up a quick pace, slamming his cock in as deep as he can get it and driving forward, feeling wet cunt surround him, and he reaches down to pull at Levinson’s fat little cock the way that Evo had, to tug and pull and squeeze at it. He’d be whining now if he was awake, whining and moaning and squirming underneath him, would probably be begging Izzy to let him come, to get him off, to please fuck his ass as well, to fuck both his holes because he was so desperate and they were so empty, to please, please, fill him up.

He keeps jerking Levinson’s cock as he thrusts and groans as his cunt gives a more powerful twitch, feels his hips go stuttery at the abrupt pleasure of that tightness, how fucking good it feels, his balls tightening up before he gives one hard squeeze, and Levinson’s sweet little pussy comes around him.

Izzy groans as he keeps thrusting into him, feels his pretty dick twitch and jump under his fingers, feels his pussy clench and flutter all around him, fucking divine.

His sack draws up tight and his own dick pulses powerfully, and he curses under his breath as he comes inside Levinson’s cunt, breathing heavily.

He’s seen Nakomians fuck twinks before, has seen it at shows in clubs, see some twinks take a Nakomian’s dick like it’s a party trick — they’re three times the size of a human, big bull-headed fuckers, and when a slim person sinks down on one of their fucking horsecocks you can see the bulge in them like a guy’s erection through tight pants — when they come, the bellies balloon with it, bubble outward as their balls empty into them.

Izzy looks down at Levinson’s flat, pretty stomach as he slowly pulls out, at the little divot of his navel, at the visible bones of his hips.

He grins at the thought of just how different he’ll look once his stint is over, and puts his cock away, zipping himself back up.

“You were quick,” says Law as he comes back out.

“I’ve got time to go slower,” says Izzy, and steps back to let Dixon take his turn next.

* * *

Izzy’s body is so taut with anticipation he feels like he might vibrate out of his skin as he and Law head back into the observation deck over the same decontamination bay they’d prepped Ira Levinson in.

Doctor Evo is there already, and two other suits are just carefully removing Levinson from his box and setting him down on the tiled floor on his hands and knees under the showers.

He’s still completely, utterly still, and Izzy holds his breath as he flicks on the speaker from the panel, listening to Evo running through checks with the other men.

“Our boy was very popular,” he says mildly as the suits set up a few additional camera units around Levinson’s inhumanly still body — when they start streaming, their feeds appear on three huge screens over the observation deck, angles from Levinson’s side, from the back, from the front. “His usage stats are something to behold.”

“Are they really going to run this program on more of the mining vessels?” asks one of the suits. “Have a whole line of people in stasis for workers to fuck?”

“Let’s hope so,” says Evo, “this is fun work, hm? Prisons are overcrowded, and this way, the correctional facilities are still carrying out some correction, but without having to feed and clothe and house a prisoner — and they can make some money on renting them out, too. You ready?”

“He’s definitely not going to pop?” asks the other suit, looking squeamish, and Evo laughs.

“No, no, Ira here isn’t our first test subject — a year is the longest one of them’s been in use for, but the nanobots and the solutions we injected in him will stop him popping. His belly won’t break — no guarantee his mind won’t. We ready?”

They’ve put up splash screens between themselves and Levinson, and Izzy palms over himself, rubbing at his half-hard cock through his slacks.

With no objections, Evo types a command into his computer screen, and a shimmer runs over Levinson’s body as the stasis disengages.

For a half a second, for a breath, nothing happens.

And then his eyes fly open wide, his mouth dropping open — on the central screen, the one of his face, Izzy feels his cock fucking flare to life between his legs at how wide his eyes go — yep, brown, with hazel flecks, very pretty — and how his mouth opens. The ragged howl that comes out of his mouth is one of the hottest things Izzy’s ever seen, and at the same time he can see the sudden burst of come shooting out of his cunt and his ass, even as his belly fucking balloons underneath him.

It spreads out rapidly as he screams and yells and shouts and struggles helplessly, the outward swell of his belly like when you hold a water balloon to a tap, the skin forced to stretch. His whole body is twitching and shuddering, and in between shots and sprays of all the come inside him, Izzy can see the boy’s cunt twitching as he experiences a few thousand orgasms all at once.

His belly just keeps fucking expanding outward and underneath him until its on the floor, until it’s raising him so high he’s not on his hands and knees anymore and is just balanced on top of the fat paunch of his belly. He’s shimmering with that gel stuff and also sweat as he coughs and chokes, and then vomits out more of it, thick, white come — probably still hot — starts spraying out of him from the other end, drizzling down his chin.

“Fucking hell,” says Law lowly, and Izzy slides his hand into his slacks to jack himself off properly now, gripping at his cock and pulling at himself, thrusting into his hand as he imagines sliding back into that perfectly hot, tight cunt of Ira Levinson’s, fucking into him when he’s paralysed like this by the swollen weight of his own come-swollen belly, when he’s been reduced by thousands of orgasms experienced at once to just this: fuckmeat, perfectly synthesised.

Come is still leaking out of his holes, but it’s no longer so explosive, just a slow drizzle out of their gaping entrances that oozes down his swollen stomach. His mouth is frothing with it, and he swallows — he’s got a glazed-over look in his eyes and his jaw is slack, his head tipped forward, and he keeps twitching all over, his eyes, his lips, his fingers.

“That was nice, wasn’t it?” asks Doctor Evo, stepping forward, and his boots are swimming through the ocean of come on the floor as he leans in and pats the side of Levinson’s ballooned and ruined body, making him moan faintly. He puts his hand on the centre of his back and, with a kind of curious look on his face, puts pressure on Levinson’s body.

Izzy chokes on air, his cock jerking in his hand, his hips stuttering, at the desperate whine that Levinson lets out, the spray of more come that spatters out of his cunt and ass.

He’s fucking destroyed, stretch marks showing obviously on him as Evo gestures to the suits and they come to haul him up and turn him over so that he’s on his back. His hip divots are nowhere to be seen, and his cute little innie has become an outie.

“If his mind is permanently cracked, we can always sell him back to the mining vessel,” says Evo, reaching in and gently squeezing the sides of Levinson’s jaw, coming in closer with a handheld camera to show him off as the other suits start rubbing and pressing on his belly, working the come out of his womb and his guts.

“Bl’zz,” slurs Levinson, still twitching, still completely out of it.

“Please?” Evo repeats, raising his eyebrows and smiling down at him kindly. “You hear that, boys? He wants to go back.”

All three of them laugh, closing his eyes tightly, focusing on the pathetic whimpers Levinson is still letting out, Izzy comes hard over his hand.

FIN.

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