The Y-Virus Ch. 01

The following story is entirely fictitious. Any similarity to any persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and unintentional. All characters depicted in sexual acts and scenarios are at least eighteen years of age or older. The following story contains aspects of BDSM, CBT (cock and ball torture), femdom, forced orgasms, tease and denial, prostate stimulation, anal sex, ass worship, sex with machines, and much more. If any of these categories don't appeal to you then I strongly suggest you don't read the following story and find something else more suited to your tastes. You have been warned!

The first chapter of this story contains very little sex, but is necessary in order to understand the character dynamics of the main character in later chapters. The sexual content will increase starting with chapter two. I promise.

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The Y-Virus

Chapter One: The Defining Choice

My life had once been a very pleasant thing. I had a girlfriend named Sarah that I loved very much, I had a decent job that allowed me to afford an apartment in a respectable neighborhood, I had friends and family that loved me dearly, and I was happy most of the time. I never thought that most of these things could change so abruptly.

My name is Ryan Barber. I'm currently twenty-eight years old as I write this, though my story begins when I was twenty-six. I now find myself in a future that neither I nor anyone else could've predicted: I'm one of only approximately eight thousand men left in the entire world.

Perhaps it'll be easier to understand if I explain what happened from the beginning:

The year was 2028. I worked on an assembly line in a factory near the edge of Detroit for six years. I liked most of the people I shared the work environment with, and they seemed to like me. Despite our sincerest efforts, work had been very slow the last month or so. Our supervisor came to us and said everyone had to go home early. There simply wasn't anything for our crew to do. This didn't surprise us. All the workers in my department were informed a few weeks prior about the possibility of down time.

Like everyone else on my line, I grabbed my jacket and made my way home. It saddened me that I wouldn't make as much money this week, but at least I'd be able to spend a few extra hours with my girlfriend. I thought that maybe if I bought her something nice as a surprise then perhaps I'd get lucky when I got home. It was worth a shot.

I lived in Allen Park at the time and on the way home I stopped by a local florist to buy a half-dozen roses with a card (kind of cliché, I know). The card already had a romantic slogan written on it, but I added:

"With all the love in my heart,—Ryan"

With that I drew a couple hearts in red ink next to my name, folded it, and slipped it into the little envelope that came with the bouquet. It would make a pleasant surprise.

I paid for the roses and finished my inevitable journey home. I was more than a little surprised when I saw my best friend's car sitting on the opposite side of the parking lot of the apartment complex where I lived (my friend's car was an unmistakable eyesore: a powder-blue sedan with rust pots just above the rear passenger tire that looked very much like the Hawaiian Islands. You couldn't mistake it). He thought he was being clever and discrete by parking his car on the opposite side of the lot where I lived; but then again, he probably didn't think that I'd be coming home so early.

I didn't want to believe it, but I already knew what was happening in my apartment before I even parked my car. I tried to give them the benefit of the doubt as I marched up the sidewalk leading to my pad. Perhaps David was just helping her move something. "It is possible," I kept thinking to myself in desperation as I clutched the half-dozen roses tightly. I was fortunate the thorns were trimmed off. As I stood in front of the door to my apartment (C-10), I slowly leaned forward and pressed my right ear against it. There were faint moaning and grunting sounds coming from within.

That was it! I couldn't take another moment of those heart-wrenching sounds, but I wasn't about to give them any signal that I was home. I brought my key up to the lock, opened the door, and closed it behind me without making a sound. As I approached the bedroom door the sound of my girlfriend's moans grew louder. It was too much, but I had to confirm the betrayal with my own eyes.

I slowly, quietly opened the door to my bedroom. My brain couldn't register what I was seeing. Sarah, the love of my life, was getting fucked like crazy by my best friend, David. The worst part wasn't just that I had lost my two closest friends at the same time . . . it was the fact that my girlfriend was willingly taking his cock up her ass. Sarah's ass was always my favorite erogenous zone of her body. It was nearly perfect: it was big, but not too big; it was firm, and yet still had a seductive wiggle when she walked. The fact that she was taking it up the ass willingly only pissed me off even more. She almost always refused to let me fuck her in the ass. She would say that it was unnatural or unclean. There were only two exceptions where she let me do it: two years ago on my birthday, and Christmas of last year (she dressed up like one of Santa's elves and told me that since I was such a good boy this year, Santa decided to give her ass to me as a present. She even wore no underwear under the short green skirt).

I felt cheated in more ways than one.

To make a long story short I kicked them both out of my apartment. I wanted to punch David's teeth down his throat, but something deep in my mind kept me from doing it. Perhaps it was a good thing because I couldn't afford a lawyer. Also, knowing my luck, he'd not only take me to court for assault, but he'd probably win such a case in the American justice system of that time.

He would've won my girlfriend's ass AND my hard-earned money at the same time. That would've driven me to commit a murder/suicide.

Sarah was a little different. I didn't really want to hit her (even though she cheated on me in the worst kind of way). The idea of striking a woman had always been abhorrent to me; however, this didn't mean that I held back from uttering a series of passionate, hurtful words. I couldn't think of anything else to do.

I allowed the two of them to put most of their clothes on before kicking them out (I'm not a complete asshole, and that's what separated me from them). When I slammed the door it was the last time I saw either of them. David made no effort to apologize; Sarah sent me a couple texts saying that she wanted to talk. I ignored her texts by deleting them as soon as I saw them. I just wanted to get those two out of my mind, and so I turned to alcohol. It was a temporary solution, but it wasn't enough to rid myself of the pain.

As the weeks went on, my alcohol consumption (and the fact that I lost my two closest friends) started to take its toll on me and began to have obvious effects on my performance at work. I never went to work drunk or even buzzed. It was my thoughts about Sarah and David that made me fall behind in my daily quotas. And since my numbers in the factory were falling short, coupled with the fact that things continued to slow down for production at the plant, I was one of the first workers to be laid off. This only made matters worse.

I've always hated the idea of collecting unemployment insurance. My father raised me to believe that a man had to work in order to make his way in the world, and I still agree with him.

I began seeing the world crumbling all around me. I admit that my temper started to grow even towards my closest family and friends. Even when my few remaining friends tried to cheer me up I would just brush them aside and tell them to go wherever they wanted to go without me. I was becoming a lost cause to everyone it seemed.

At one point my remaining friends and family even tried to give me an intervention. They gave me the usual sop-speeches you see on reality television. One person's speech after another, and then another, and then another, and then another. The intervention only infuriated me when they told me that I had to make an immediate change in my life if I wanted to keep them all in my life. I vividly remember telling them all to go to hell.

I chose the bottle.

I felt triumphant only for a few weeks. I soon realized that my unemployment money wasn't going to be enough to keep my apartment. I was so drunk most of the time that I overlooked this one simple truth. I began to panic when I realized I only had a few months of unemployment insurance left. I grabbed an old calculator I had since high school and added up the money I still had coming my way. My heart sank when the calculator displayed that I'd have less than eight hundred dollars coming my way, not including the money I still had in my wallet.

This was more devastating than all the speeches in my intervention. I had to come up with a plan and fast.

I didn't buy any booze that day and instead paced back and forth most of the night trying to think of what to do. I realized I wanted to work again, but my mind was still out of balance from the Sarah/David incident. I still couldn't shake their betrayal from my mind even now. One idea after another: none seemed to be viable. Rehab was a possible option, but that would mean I'd have to admit that I was wrong before (I was extremely prideful during this juncture in my life, and I now realize it was wrong to govern myself in such a way).

I resolved to find new work; something that would at least help to keep my apartment while I figured out what else to do. An old friend of my family told me about job opportunities working as a custodian for the local public schools. I jumped at the opportunity.

Within a week I had a new job cleaning the hallways and classrooms of a couple different schools. I only made a few cents above minimum wage, but I wasn't about to complain.

My financial situation was still very rough to say the least. I was starting to get agitated with the fact that I had to reduce my drinking (a personal sacrifice in order to save money and do my job well) and I was also getting annoyed with the job itself. The people that worked at the schools were nice, but the messes were sometimes ridiculous.

I knew that mankind wasn't supposed to live this way. I knew that most of my troubles were my fault but not all of them. I longed for something better. Watching a local news report about cryogenics, I started to form an idea. Apparently the field of cryogenics has made tremendous progress over the last three years or so and I began to think that maybe if I could afford to have the procedure done to me, maybe, just maybe, I could awaken in a future that would be much more kind to me.

I dreamed of a future that would serve as a blank slate for me. I wouldn't be haunted by local reminders of my treacherous ex-girlfriend and best friend. Of course I would still have my memories, but at least Sarah and David would long be dead and the local stores, restaurants, and theaters where we had once hung out would be gone.

It didn't take me long to come to the conclusion that this is what I wanted to do. My family was still very pissed at me for telling them off at my intervention, so I didn't much care if they'd be upset at my decision or not. In fact, I never told them.

Fortunately, the cost of being put into cryogenic stasis was not as expensive as I thought it would be. There were still countless people who feared that it might not work and that you would simply die if things went awry. There were also countless people who weren't interested in going through it. They had family, friends, wives, husbands, etcetera, that depended on them. For me, all signs seemed to point in the direction of cryogenic stasis.

My mind was set. I just needed to save most of the money from my next three paychecks and I'd be all right.

I set up an appointment with one of the cryogenic experts at the CryoVenture Institute in Ann Arbor, Michigan. I forced myself to quit drinking a week before my first appointment. After just three appointments and one psychological evaluation I was deemed suitable for the procedure. I had heard rumors that the procedure would involve having my head removed after being frozen, but Dr. Norton was a very forthcoming man and assured me that this procedure involved no such thing.

He explained it all to me in layman's terms and I was sold.

I scheduled for the procedure to be done on Valentine's Day as a sort of symbolic gesture considering one of the main reasons I was doing this was because of the heartache I still felt over the Sarah and David incident. I informed Dr. Norton that I wanted to be kept in cryogenic stasis for four hundred years. "That would be enough time," I thought. He didn't protest in any way. He knew that the customer was his first priority.

When the day finally came Dr. Norton greeted me in the main office. I made my last payment before he led me into a room marked "Stasis Chambers." The chambers were hollow cylinders that measured little more than seven feet high and with a diameter of four feet. The cylinders were also made of highly-polished chrome. I didn't really know what alloy was used for the chambers, but, to be honest, I didn't care. All I knew was that the shine of the metal was impressive. There were thick glass windows in the chambers that allowed the lab staff to see the faces of those inside the chambers. Dozens of wires ran from each of the chambers to an independent generator.

I had one last moment of nervousness, but it soon washed over when I remembered why I was doing this: I wanted to take the chance at a better future. In this period of time I was a loser, but in the future I might end up being worth something.

I had no idea of how right I would be.

There were at least three dozen chambers in the massive lab. Almost half of them were occupied. I noticed three other lab technicians pacing back and forth with clipboards in hand when Dr. Norton and I entered the lab. These were his assistants but I never learned their names, or they told me their names and I simply forgot them.

Dr. Norton told me in my first consultation that I'd have to be nude when inside the cryogenic chamber. Apparently the chemicals found in clothing, and in the detergents used to clean them, had an adverse effect to the thawing process. I didn't complain about having to be naked in front of the technicians even though two of them were women. I've always been quite comfortable with my nudity and they were very professional about it.

Dr. Norton also informed me in one of my earlier consultations that all my body hair would fall out after the thawing process, but that it would all grow back in time. This small truth didn't change my mind about going through with this. Hair was the least of my concerns.

Once I stripped myself naked and entered the hollow upright chamber, my personal effects were put into a safe next to my chamber. My chamber and safe had my name printed on them along with my file number. Dr. Norton fitted a sort of mask over my nose and mouth which had a few translucent tubes running from it. Once this was done, the other assistants put a series of medical electrodes on various parts of my naked body.

"Just relax, Ryan," Dr. Norton said, "I'm about to administer the sedative."

The doctor approached me with a syringe and injected me with something to put me to sleep. After he withdrew the needle I leaned back against the padding inside of the chamber. The sedative took effect very quickly. Fortunately I was strapped securely in an upright position as I felt the gentle caress of sleep overpower me. Things started to become fuzzy as I slowly drifted off to a sleep that would last me centuries.

The last thing I remember hearing was Dr. Norton saying, "Rest well, my friend. See you in four hundred years."

Little did I know that I'd be awakened 281 years into the future, instead of 400.