Ripster the Enforcer
By Limewah
Patron Reward for Sanmer (June 2023)
Featuring characters from Street Sharks
18+

Ripster was supposed to be smarter than this.
He was not supposed to be this easy to capture. 
But he’d never seen it coming. The cage landed on him from a blind spot, blotting out the sun and hiding him in a solid-chromed cube.
Before it had even touched down, he was already snared. A harness hit him in the back and quickly wrapped around him with a click - the same went for another strap that shot around his neck and buried a round ball in his still-open mouth.

As it began to move, the sound bath began, and rooted the shark to the spot.

The blue shark’s teeth were sharp enough to rend through steel like it was tinfoil. But whatever alloy the gag was made of, it was not giving way. It was soft, almost chewy, just sort of bending and warping against his biting grip and re-setting itself when he pulled back. No matter how hard he tried, it always returned to the default position.
Just like the rest of his attempts of resistance, then. 
Ripster was growling and shaking his head like he was a ravenous dog. It was all he could do to try and resist the constant echoing streams of sound bombarding him from all directions, from the hidden speakers. The vibrations of those tones felt tangible, powerful, overwhelming. The throbbing sounds met in the middle of his head, and his mind sort of felt like it was being microwaved, every single molecule wriggling and fizzing. 
The walls of sound were closing in, and the shark’s brain was so overwhelmed that he could not perceive any sort of escape, his vision quivering and blurring under the strain, the sort of moment of blindness he got after an especially strong…

Shit, he was hard. He was throbbing. 
He wasn’t visualising any sexual fantasies - it was the pure sound vibrating his brainwaves and forcing his cock to full mast, straining against his too-tight pants until they began to rip at the seams….
He was drooling, too, all over his soft gag. It felt sort of nice in his mouth…
His biting was turning more into gentle chewing, the binaural assault pushing through him like an intense full-body massage, one that had him paralysed and rooted to the spot. It forced his dicks to throb and dribble, as though invisible hands were stroking them, tickling at the fork at the base, and fondling his balls. Too many hands to count.
He groaned in spite of himself - the sound of his voice was turning him on even more, making it harder to resist gushing and pulsing out more of that potent precum.
There were words hidden in the sounds, etching themselves into his mind. Simple, single-word commands, ones he did not hear, but ones he felt, deep in his psyche. Resisting them was futile. It was starting to hurt to try. Relenting was the path of least resistance. The sound pulled him to his knees, and tugged his eyes inwards, crossing towards his snout as his cocks erupted with what would be the first of many intense, productive orgasms. His groans echoed through the metallic cage, only adding to the intense seismic vibrations breaking down the last bits of his resistance and putting him into a blank, drooling stupor.

By the time the cage had reached its destination, and the sound bath was concluded, There was nothing left in that sharks’ head - it was time to rebuild him. 
When the cage was removed, he was lead along like a placid pet, still suckling on the ballgag without a care in the world. He was dead to the world, his gaze foggy and glassy, his body only doing the barest minimum to keep him conscious enough to walk along and follow the commands he was given.

He needed some stimulus to kick-start it again. That was what the headset was for. 
As soon as the helmet was slipped over his head, his synapses were set ablaze by a stream of beautiful colour. Kaleidoscope flashes and twisting twin spirals bombarded each eye with their own light show, sometimes attacking them separately, sometimes blending into an endless, stereoscopic landscape. 
The familiar commands were there again, but in a form his eyes could comprehend. The blue shark moaned gratefully, like he was tasting a delicious dessert for the first time.
He held still as the pretty lights kept him there, allowing the delivery agents to remove his boots and clothing. He was strangely light, easy to disrobe, his limp body like a dangling puppet as he drooled over himself and took the commands to heart.

As his pants were removed, another set of gear was lashed around his bucking hips, curling around his twin members.. The pin-prick needles on the straps’ underside poured microscopic droplets of chemicals too unknown and esoteric to have even been banned. The straps could handle Ripster’s teeth, so too could they handle his body as his muscles swelled and his twin dicks did the same. 
He groaned into the gag, eyes flickering and fluttering as the colours poured a new personality into his head, slowly and surely. His brow began to furrow, and his lips started to curl into a sneering snarl. He started to mouth at the ball more firmly now, his teeth digging into the material, twisting it left and right.
His eyes began to regain focus. He noticed the others in the room with him, in their full-body hazard suits. His sneer widened. His arms were back in control, and one of them was groping at his shafts.
“Yeah…” he growled, through the gag, rather articulately. “Gonna throw my weight around, yeah… gonna fuck some holes, fuck ‘em up…”
One bite, one twist, and the ball-gag popped. He spat the acrid ball of deflating goo free from his mouth and laughed with the sadistic cadence of a schoolyard bully. His dicks were still growing bigger, still drizzling pre from their tips, as his blue body glistened as though covered with oil. 
He yanked the helmet off of his head and flung it against the wall, a seven-figure piece of machinery shattered into scrap in an instant. He didn’t need it anymore. Though he did like how it made those little twerps in the room shiver and flinch.
“Take off the suits,” he snarled at them. “The first two of you to get naked get to have the first ride…”

His bullying attitude didn’t lessen over time. It made him an excellent enforcer and guard.
Regular check-ups on him showed no signs of his new personality softening or lessening.
In fact, often he would be found having ‘overpowered’ some ‘intruder’ - it was hard to tell how they could have infiltrated the headquarters judging from the rather unassuming appearance of the ‘intruder’ in question. It was more likely that Ripster was just picking people up off the street half the time. Even so, he was doing good work. 
Usually, the capture would be bent over his bed, Ripster’s massive hand covering their head entirely as it buried them in the thin mattress. It creaked and strained under each powerful thrust - sometimes with one cock still out in the open, sometimes with both buried in the pliant hole of his catch. The more muscular ones tended to be able to take that dick more easily. 

He was difficult to get through to while he was balls-deep in his prey, far too interested in telling them to ‘Take it’ and calling them ‘a cockslut nerd’. When he finally finished up, the intruder would be lead off, carried under the armpits and dragging their jelly legs on the floor as they were taken to the conditioning chambers, leaving a trail of semen leaking from their rump as they went. 
Ripster would sit on his bed and spread his legs, his dicks still throbbing and drooling.
 “Any of you wanna see if it fits?” his voice always carried an implicit threat, that he planned on making it fit. He wouldn’t stop hitting on the researchers doing the check-ups. Grabbing and swatting asses as hard as he could, trying to shove a finger or a dick wherever he could, being rough and handsy. 
There had been some incidents where these overtures worked, too. Particularly on the recruits he had captured himself.
His former companions, the other Street Sharks, had been hard at work looking for him, based on the organisation’s scouts’ findings. There was little chance of them finding him. But they would make useful recruits as well - it was eventually decided that, perhaps Ripster should come to them. One at a time. Add them to the growing collection of enforcers.
Photographs of each of them were shown to Ripster, and he examined them like they were pieces of meat. No hint of recognition of their old friendship, just doing the mental math in his head. Deciding which one he would go for first.
He eventually settled on the tiger shark, practically jabbing his finger right through the photograph.
“He looks like the biggest cockslut. I’m gonna start with him.”

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