Krik (go to the kitchen for lunch)

You obediently go to the kitchen and wait for Krik. They grin approvingly when they see you. "Bend over the table."

It's difficult to do so, bound as you are, but you manage it. Krik cuts away some of your ties to access your ass and removes the plug. "I might be wrong, but this should be just about big enough." Without warning, Krik forces their cock into your overworked ass, causing you to squeal as your tender tits are pressed against the table (your hands, still tied behind your back, can't protect them). Your hips and thighs are pounded atainst the sharp edge of the table over and over again as Krik's cock, which is rather thicker than the butt plug and covered in spines, ravages your ass.

"Aren't you glad I was so careful to stretch you out these five days?" Krik grunts between thrusts. "This'd be so much worse for you if I hadn't been so careful."

Of course you're grateful. You'd be in so much more pain if it wasn't for all that stretching!

Krik cums in your ass, then pulls out and cuts your remaining ties. Only your nipple rings, which look unremovable, remain.

"Get on your hands and knees," Krik commands. "I've made something for you."

You get down. Krik rummages around in a crate until they pull out... well, it looks like two padded plastic cylinders with bolts in one end and... deflated balloons?... on the other. Krik bolts them to a table leg at just under your hip height, squirts some kind of goo on them, and then grabs your hips. Too late, you realise what they're doing, just as they pull you against the cylinders and they sink into your cunt and ass.

Krik fiddles with something and you feel the balloons on the ends expand inside you, until there's no way they can come out without deflating.

"Your cunt has had four days to rest," Krik explains, "and that ass has seen no use at all. We want to get your body back into the game for when you're a dreg again tomorrow. Your work this afternoon is to keep fucking those. Pace yourself, because every time you stop, I'm going to electrocute you. Start now."

You rock back, the cylinders sliding through your holes. Pumping back and forth quickly becomes hard work, but you don't dare rest for too long; every time you're still for more than a few seconds, Krik jabs a metal stick into a random part of your body and it shocks you like a cattle prod. The weight of the rings in your tits quickly seems to become heavy as their momentum yanks at your nipples with every pendulum swing.

Krik never leaves the room. At some point, they sit down and use you as a footstool, making the thrusting harder, but you don't dare complain. Apart from occasionally shocking you or relubricating the dildos, they don't do much. You're exhausted and tear-stained and too cramped in too many places to walk by the time Krik says you can stop; they pick you up and carry you to your cage. The burning healing cream is applied, but you barely notice. You pass out immediately.