Please go away if you are not of legal age or are not interested in such material. The following story is a purely fictional account. Any relationship to any real person living or dead is coincidental. The narrative contains non-consensual male-on-male sex, torture, and death. It is intended for mature readers who wish to view such material, and for whom it is legal to do so.
The author in no way condones or promotes such acts in real life. For spam prevention, an animal name has been added to the author's e-mail address. Remove the animal name to get the actual address: POWauthor zebra at yahoo dot com.
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It contains spoilers in the first few paragraphs, so if you plan to read Ab-dick-tion! That's why we can't have nice things: I first learned of wormhole glass the way a lot of people did: At first, I was captivated by the events it described.
The guy's dick and balls had been physically removed from his body? And yet were still, somehow, connected, but at a distance? The poor sap could feel everything that was done to them, but had no idea where on the planet they might be? And best of all, the fellow who had possession of them evidently enjoyed inflicting pain upon them.
Surely this guy was my soulmate! The tormentor, I mean, not the hapless wretch he had taken control of. I had to find him, had to meet him. But I had no idea how to do that and so, frustrated, I could only observe the story as it played out.
The days dragged on; the story receded into the background of the news feeds. Weeks passed and I stopped following quite so closely and forgot about the whole thing for days at a stretch and then one day - poof - it was the top story again because, oh happy day, Jonah had been reunited with his long-lost jewels and all was well again, the end. Had he somehow been found by the authorities, or even by the victim himself? His position should have been invulnerable; nothing could have compelled him to give up his prize, and the more I read, the more I realized that every indication pointed toward one inescapable conclusion: Perhaps even outright encouraged it.
If you had in your possession a set of abducted genitals, fully functional and invisibly attached to the brain and body they are associated with, why on earth would you ever voluntarily give them up? This guy had apparently grown bored with torturing a cock and balls and not being able to see the result, and so, instead of inducing their owner to come to him as he could easily have done, he had stashed the package in a place where the owner was able to find it.
What's more, there was evidence he had done the same thing at least twice before. What a spectacular failure of the imagination. What a colossal letdown. What a total waste of the limitless possibilities such technology had to offer. I resolved to do it right. But that would require getting hold of some wormhole glass, and for all the publicity the story got, the one thing that no one ever mentioned was: Where did the boneheaded amateur get his magical goodies from?
It took a lot of sleuthing, but I was able to track down the origin of the substance: Researchers there had been investigating a way to extract energy from quantum-scale fluctuations in the vacuum. In the typical way of scientific discoveries from penicillin to post-it notes, the researchers were spectacularly unsuccessful at making any useful progress toward their stated goal, but they sure turned up an interesting side effect.
Paired particles, bundled together in perfect alignment, capable of being physically separated and yet still thinking of themselves as "adjacent". There was brief speculation that the devices could be used to cheat Einstein, but a few experiments with lasers showed that light beams entering the wormholes from one side emerged from the other after a time that was exactly equal to the time it would have taken to cross the separating distance the old-fashioned way.
So no shortcut to the stars and no grandfather paradox. Still, a nifty gadget all the same. But how to get some? I was able to find a supplier based in Taiwan. The prices they were asking were astronomical, definitely beyond my price range, but before I could even begin to think about ways to drum up the cash, I received a virtual visit from the FBI. It was both amazing and terrifying - one moment I was running on my treadmill, enjoying the wraparound view of the Tuscan countryside that my iSelf provided through my VR headset; the next I was running in place in a cell with plain white walls and a concrete floor, lit by a single bare bulb overhead.
Until that moment, I had no idea that the feds could hijack an iSelf like that, just take control of what I was seeing and hearing. My stride broke and I came to a halt, still standing on my now-stopped treadmill but feeling like the cell was more real than my spare bedroom. There were a pair of agents there, manifesting as crew-cut, no-nonsense types wearing opaque sunglasses.
I later figured out they were most likely software, but even now I'm not completely sure. The illusion was very convincing, and I wasn't exactly in a position to conduct a Turing test on them.
They informed me that the US government isn't too keen on the national security implications of instantaneous travel; the technology has been banned in this country. I inquired about Jonah, but the agents pointed out that they were there to ask questions, not answer them. My guess is Jonah got unofficially grandfathered in because a the media loves him and b he's obviously little more than an amiable buffoon. As long as that lasts, he's safe, but the moment he asks his iSelf anything about "plutonium" or "jihad" or "NAMBLA", he'll find his grandfather status revoked and they'll be all over him.
The agents spent about 15 minutes asking me over and over about my interest in the subject. Fortunately, with the story all over the news recently, I just kept saying that was what had caught my attention, that I had no idea the substance was off-limits but now that I knew, gosh, sirs, I would certainly not be going anywhere near it ever again, no sirs!
With a final warning, I was abruptly back in Tuscany, standing still in the middle of the road while a virtual breeze ruffled the leaves of equally-virtual olive trees but did nothing to remove the very real and not-completely-exercise-induced sweat from my brow. I whipped the headset off and was forced to admit one thing: So that's where all future research took place: That's where I was finally able to learn the secret.
It took nine months of dedicated, carefully-anonymized digging, sorting out the tidbits of truth from the flood of disinformation that had been spread, no doubt by the same agency that had paid me a visit. I understood the strategy: Sometimes the best way to make sure a forbidden truth doesn't spread is to surround it with a cloud of conflicting falsehoods.
There is no danger that I will spread the knowledge any further. I have already used the stuff to perform two abductions, and you haven't heard even a whisper of a rumor that such techno-magical means were involved, have you? That's because I know how to keep secrets, and my victims?
Well, they're not in any position to go blabbing to you or to the media. So if you want some wormhole glass yourself, you'll have to do the research on your own. I will tell you this much: My production rate is two square inches per day.
Another limitation is that the 3D printer I use is capable of producing sheets of arbitrary length but a maximum of 18 inches in width. By the time I had the production rig set up, I had already formed a plan for what I wanted to do with it.
I would need one large, flat plate to perform the abduction, then various smaller flexible bits for use when entertaining myself with my victim. One large flat plate, 6 feet in length and 18 inches wide: Then a few months more to manufacture the smaller miscellaneous bits. My electricity bill pretty much tripled during that time. It was a price worth paying, and still way cheaper than what that Taiwanese outfit wanted. I used the time while the machine churned out wormholes to set up the play space.
Being underground, it required a lot of excavation, but when it was done, it was perfect. Totally soundproof and secure, with a ventilation system and plenty of space to either stretch someone out or scrunch him up. Either in whole or in part. At last, almost three years after firing it up, the 3D printer finished the last of the miscellaneous parts. I had already installed the large flat plate where it needed to go.
I just needed to wait for the right moment to snatch my victim. Jaren took three deep breaths and held the third. He stretched his arms up over his head, first the right, pushing it way left until he could feel the pull in his neck, then the left. He windmilled them about three times, jumping lightly in place three times per revolution of his arms while letting out the held breath. Like almost all athletes, he was superstitious.
In his case, the superstition took the form of performing the exact same ritual in the locker room before every single match. He knew it was silly, that it had no impact on whether the team would win or lose, but it felt right to do it, and when he felt right, he competed better, and that was all the justification he needed. Ritual complete, Jaren headed out into the dazzling lights and deafening roar of the gym.
This was UO's final home match of the season, and the team had already clinched a spot in the division so today's contest was going to be more of a victory lap than an actual wrestling match. Diepler College had only one decent wrestler, and he wasn't in Jaren's weight class. The guy Jaren was paired up against was solid and showed good grasp of the fundamentals but he was way too slow.
Jaren should be able to take him down easily enough