Stage 1: Classical conditioning

by Tiger_Niki (ao3)

“No. No, no, no.” Doctor Kleist flicked through the proposal forms, crossing through paragraphs and scribbling his own notes in the margins. “This was written by someone with a grade school understanding of psychobiology. Less, even.” He tutted loudly at one diagram, jabbing it with the end of his pencil. “Look at this. No thought for the long-term implications of heat suppressants on his endocrine system. No thought for the increased difficulty in maintaining his muscle mass. No thought whatsoever.” He tossed the clipboard down on the table and gave the HYDRA commander across the table a disdainful glare.

The commander tapped his fingers on the table. This wasn’t how he expected the conversation to go. “... Can you do it?” He asked finally.

“Oh, I can do it,” Kleist sniffed. “I can turn your Rottweiler into a Chihuahua if you’d like.”

“Alright.” the commander leaned over to pick up the proposal forms when Kleist placed his hand on them.

“You’re making a mistake. You want to do the very opposite of what you’ve planned here,” the doctor said plainly. The commander withdrew his hand. Kleist turned the notes around, and used his pencil as a pointer as he explained his scrawls. “You want loyalty. Obedience. Strength. Turning him into an Omega might get you one or two of those. It might sound counterintuitive to you, but you want him to treat his handler as his Omega. Hijack that bond in his brain. Make him protective, willing to defend you and what is important to you through his own initiative. He will be physically unable to hurt you, devoted to you with that jealous, aggressive fever the way only a bonded Alpha can be.”

“And… you can do that?”

“Oh, I would LOVE to do that.”

“Alright, I’ll submit this new proposal to the project council-”

“But, there will be one downside to this new course.” Kleinst held up a finger. “He should never have a handler who is a true omega. The consequences of that, well-”

“There are no omegas in HYDRA.” the commander stood.

“Well that’s alright then.” Kleist smiled.

***

Just six weeks later, Kleist was standing before the subject in a cold, clinical examination room. The poor soldier was strapped to the mechanical chair, thick leather bonds holding him down at every joint, a rubber muzzle keeping him silent. His left arm was totally missing, but cleanly healed. He glared at Kleist and clenched his fist.

Nobody had quite settled on a name for him yet. To some he was their ‘subject’, others called him ‘soldier’. He’d heard the word ‘asset’ a few times, along with a few other Russian words he didn’t understand. Invariably, he was an ‘it’. For months, he’d fought to hold on to his sense of self against this onslaught of dehumanization - but he was already conscious of it starting to slip away, his mental strength crumbling.

“Now then.” Kleist spoke in English, snapping on his latex gloves. “Would you prefer me to call you James, or Bucky?”

Immediately the intercom in the room buzzed loudly. “Do not address the subject directly!” a voice barked in Russian. “You could undo WEEKS of-”

Kleist held up a hand dismissively. “The process will undo months of training, General. Quite possibly all of your training so far. And it has proved crucial for the patient to understand what is being done to him at every single stage of the process. Would you like me to proceed, or shall I leave?”

The intercom buzzed once more and the channel remained open for a few seconds. Kleist could hear whispered arguing in the observation room. “... Proceed.”

Kleist leaned forward and gently unclipped the rubber muzzle from behind the soldier’s head, pulling it off and setting it down. Bucky had helplessly drooled over his chin, so the doctor gently wiped him clean with a handkerchief. Tenderly, almost.

“What did you say to me?” the soldier asked quietly, his voice hoarse from lack of use.

“How would you like me to address you?”

“Bucky?” He replied, almost a question. Was he Bucky? Yes. Yes, he was Bucky. He wanted to be Bucky. “Are you here to help me?”

“Yes, I am.” Kleist jotted down his notes on his clipboard without looking up. “A quick cognition test, Bucky. What year is it?”

“Either ‘45 or ‘46.” The soldier's voice cracked. “I lost track”

“Good. It’s February 1946. Do you know where you are?”

“Some… torture camp.” He swallowed weakly. “So are you here to-”

“Bucky, you’re a Beta, aren’t you?”

The question confused Barnes. He tried to think back to a time when such a concern might have been relevant to him. He’d only been at the facility a year, maybe less, but already his past life seemed so long ago. “Yeah. I’m a Beta.”

“Interesting.” Kleist dropped the clipboard down on the table and began feeling Bucky’s elbow joint, testing his skin elasticity and capillary refill. “I’m somewhat surprised you aren’t a natural Alpha.” His hand moved up to Bucky’s jaw, pressing firmly yet gently into the glands in his neck. “Was your father a Beta?”

“...yeah?”

Kleist slid two fingers into Bucky’s wet, hot mouth. “Maternal grandfather?”

“Uhh unno....” his tongue moved against the latex-covered fingers that massaged him. “Uhh guess so?”

He realised suddenly that he could bite those fingers. He had the strength to clench his jaw tightly around them, bring his teeth together until he felt bones cracking, until he could taste blood… but he couldn’t. Even as he willed himself to close his mouth just a little, he felt his jaw fall slack and yielding. He was drooling again. Kleist was staring down at him with a soft smile, just rubbing his teeth and tongue in a soft, rhythmic pattern. Barnes felt himself relaxing, his breathing steading.

Slowly, the doctor began to run his other hand over Bucky’s chest, feeling each muscle in turn with curious fingers. “Some atrophy…” He spoke quietly. “Oh that won’t do…”

Bucky closed his eyes. Even through the latex gloves and his thin shirt, he could feel the warmth of the other man’s hand. This must be the first gentle touch he’d felt since being brought here, he thought. His human contact now was generally reduced to strikes or rough handling. This was something different. The doctor gently stroked up his neck and into his hair - petting him, almost...

Then, to his disgust, Bucky felt himself getting hard.

“That’s right.” Kleist said quietly, reaching into his top pocket for a small vial of liquid. Bucky screwed his eyes tighter shut, weakly trying to pull away from the fingers still working in his mouth, feeling his drool streaming down his cheeks. The doctor popped the lid of the small bottle and held it under Bucky’s nose. “Can you smell that?”

At once, Barnes’ nose caught the scent. It was sweet - sickly almost - musky, but not unpleasant. Kleist finally pulled his fingers out of Bucky’s mouth and wiped them against his shirt.

“What is that?” James turned his head away from the smell a little.

“That, Bucky, is your new favourite smell. That is the scent of an Omega in heat.”

“No.” James pulled back as far as his bonds would let him. “I told you, I’m a Beta, that’s not-”

“Bucky.” Kleist placed one gloved finger on the soldier’s lips. “You’re a Beta now. Under my careful supervision, over the next few months, we’re going to turn you into an Alpha.”

“That’s not possible!” Bucky growled, but Kleist simply picked up the rubber muzzle and carefully placed it back over his mouth, securing it tightly.

“Shh now. Stay calm. It is possible. It’s a painful, humiliating process, of course. We need to rewire decades of undesirable neural pathways, correct the untold damage caused by your substandard hormone profile, reconfigure almost every fibre of your body to the standards required.”

He glanced down at the bulge in Bucky’s pants with almost a pitying smile, before straightening up. He turned to the one-way mirror and spoke in Russian. “Bring me the equipment. I need someone to remove his pants, too.”

Within seconds, the door opened and two operatives entered. Bucky couldn’t see what the first was doing, but the second approached his chair and loosened the bond around his hips.

“How much do you need?” the operative asked as he started to tug down James’s pants.

“To the knees, please.”

Bucky tried to squirm but it was useless. His pants were roughly pulled down, his cock springing up as it was freed.

Behind his head, Bucky heard a hissing sound, and a rhythmic buzz. “Mmmgh!?” He groaned, his tone pleading. The doctor clicked his fingers and beckoned the other operative over. He was carrying what looked like a briefcase, with a hose attached and…

“This,” Kleist said, picking up the attachment at the end of the hose, which was sucking greedily for air. “Is the receiving chamber for this device of my own creation. Don’t worry, it won’t hurt you. But I think you can probably guess what it’s for.” He picked up a bottle of lube and smeared it lazily over the open end. “It’s only a prototype now, a little rough around the edges - forgive me.”

He stepped forwards, took a moment to admire Bucky’s bare, hard cock, before sliding the tube over his shaft. It was slick and tight, and James helplessly pushed his hips upwards at the sensation. Kleist began to fiddle with controls on the box.

“We simply find the right level of suction…” James arched his back the tiny amount he could in his bonds as the sleeve within the chamber constricted perfectly around his firm cock. “...and the right program of motion. We’ll start it on a slow function that will gradually increase in intensity.” The device began to emit a low buzz as it began to move, sliding over James’s cock achingly slowly.

Kleist walked back to the chair, grabbing the bottle of Omega scent and pouring the liquid liberally over James’s shirt. The smell was overpowering - even over the odour of the rubber muzzle, Bucky could feel it filling his nose and mouth. He stared at the doctor with wide, pleading blue eyes as the machine slurped loudly over his dick, silently begging for help.

“Relax.” Kleist said with a soft smile. “This is the easy part. You might even enjoy it.” A glimmer of something like excitement flashed in the doctor’s eyes. “Save that sweet helpless look for a few weeks from now.”

With that, he walked out, followed by the two operatives. He strode into the observation room and handed over his notes. “When he climaxes, reset the machine with these settings. We can’t let him become numb to the sensation. Make him ejaculate… hmm, let’s say five times, before stopping today. Repeat every other day. I’ll be back in a fortnight, when the next stage of treatment can commence.”

Back in the examination room, Bucky helplessly writhed in his bonds, clawing his fingernails into the arm of the chair and clenching his toes, desperately trying to squirm his way free of the machine’s relentless, unstoppable motion. He knew he was being watched, he hated it, but god it was so good and if he just closed his eyes and submitted to it...

His muffled yelps of despair slowly turned into drawn-out howls of need. His bucking hips slowly found a rhythm with the receiving chamber. That smell clung to him, his sweat mingling with it and teasing him with the promise of something more.
Within minutes, he was arching his back and moaning, helplessly letting the device suck him completely dry.

An operative entered, and Bucky for once felt a wave of relief. They were going to stop now, surely. He could go back to his cell, he could sleep and pretend this was all a nightmare…

The pressure in the chamber released and James gasped for breath. But all too soon, the buzzing started again, the vacuum once again gripped his soft cock and started pumping slowly.

“No!” He tried yelling as the door closed behind him, the operative gone. The machine’s noise was so much worse now, so much more lewd, as it dribbled cum over Bucky’s balls and slurped over his wasted cock.

In the observation room, the general watched behind the one-way mirror. He pulled up a chair and sat down, and guesturted for his colleagues to do the same. “We’re in for a long night,” he sighed.