Buttercunt

Back inside the Losers' Lounge, one of Cassy's rapists grabbed her by the neck, while his other hand began to stroke the sleek slope of her back. When he reached her thick diaper, he gave it a resounding slap and then kneaded the material just above her pussy, causing the plastic to crinkle and the girl to sob. Cassy was trembling all over, mostly from the exertion of her horrendous ordeal, but partly from the increasing pressure on her bladder. After the revolting drink of her colon's content, she had failed to vent her bladder as she was being showered, but now...

She mewled as she was once more reminded of the thick diaper around her butt by another swat onto her plastic-encased rear. The diaper pushed her thighs apart, making it even harder to clamp down onto her urethra, but she couldn't just pee, could she? After all, if she did, there was nowhere for her pee to go but inside the waiting padding of the supersized diaper.

She sobbed at another swat, feeling the vibration of the soft spanking throughout her entire body. When she looked up, she saw the second rapist approach her with something in his hands. It was a thick black strap of leather, with metal elements. As he knealt down in front of her, she could make out a metal buckle, similar to the ones on her handcuffs, and she could see a small metal tag dangling down from the middle of the strange belt-like object. Her sadistic rapist grinned as he showed her the tag. There was something imprinted on it. Letters. They looked freshly minted. Her eyes widened in despair when she saw what was imprinted on the tag, as once more, the reality of her distress sunk in with full force, and for a moment, she forgot to clamp down onto her bladder. And while she sobbed and wailed and protested against her rapist even as he buckled the collar around her neck, locking it with a padlock, just like on her wrist-cuffs, rechristening her with her new name as "Slavegirl Buttercunt", a telltale hissing sound emanated from her pussy as a hot stream of pee shot into her diaper.

Finally, she had been fully transformed, and even though she managed to temporarily clamp down onto her bladder once more, stopping the stream of urine, she could neither deny the fact that she was now sitting in a damp diaper of degrading proportions, nor prevent her rapists from limiting her movements even more with a fresh chain between her collar and wrists, making it impossible for her to remove or even touch the warm, damp sign of her shame.

Weeping and fully defeated, the newly minted slavegirl was dragged over to the back of the lounge, where she was locked inside a small cage - no, it was more like a kennel, decked out with old newspaper and with two bitch-bowls with water and mashed apple pulp. The pathetic slavegirl risked one last glance up at her rapists and saw their cruel smiles through the bars of her bitch-kennel before they left her behind on all fours, turning off the lights and turning the two-way mirror opaque once more.