Play possum

You have introduced many proud women to their submissive sides and know the signs. It won't be too hard to emulate a slut (you hope). Plus, you do have some kinky fantasies of being a sex **** you are willing to temporarily embrace. Hell, it could be fun to indulge your less dominant side for a little bit. If you give the impression of a well trained ****, the factory won't waste time or space on you, and you may just leave this cell still hating Irk's guts.

After eating your cock shaped breakfast, you wait. Pinpricks of lights provide the featureless, black walls with an eerie glow. The water bowl disappears into the smooth floor after a few minutes, but it is the only activity for a long time. Hogtied and tits down, you try not to get frustrated while the **** box takes its sweet time.

Eventually, a small hole opens in the ceiling and a dildo tumbles out a foot to you left. A monotone voice tells you to "fetch." You belly crawl over to it and grab it with your mouth. "Now bring it here," the voice commands. A hatch opens behind you, allowing a mechanical hand to emerge. You twist your way to it, mentally cursing the bonds that make the short trip an ordeal.

Dropping the drool soaked sextoy in front of the robot hand rewards you with a pat on the head and a "good bitch." The hand takes the dildo and tosses it to the other side of your five foot cube. The game goes on.

It's exhausting, rolling around or sliding along on your tits. Your nipples are very sore and sensitive when the hand finally takes the dildo and returns to the wall. in between tosses, the voice had ordered you to do a few more humiliating tricks: "bark," "roll over," and "shake your tits." The latter caused some difficulties, but you eventually managed to roll onto your arms and wiggle your boobs enough to satisfy the omnipresent voice.

The whole experience is humiliating, and you really hope Irk isn't into pet play. You get through the dehuminizing treatment by imagining what you will do to the walking blob. A permanent cock cage seems pretty appealing or liberal use of a shock stick. But femdom fantasies can only do so much, and you're relieved when the degradation is over. It is even followed by a short respite.

A meal dribbles onto the floor during your break. It is a gooey mixture of cum and nutrient paste, but you desperately gobble it up. "Does the little doggie bitch think she should be punished?" asks the voice minutes after you finish your meal.

Think like a good ****, you remind yourself. "Yes," you respond hesitantly.

A metal buttplug lands on the floor next to you. It is connected to the wall by a wire. "Put that in your ass ****," the voice commands. You roll towards it and start slurping the plug, hoping they cleaned it since the last use. Once the plug is significantly coated in your mouth lube, you slide until you can reach it with your chained hands then squeeze it into your rosebud.

The anal intruder shocks you almost immediately and keeps shocking you while the cruel voice explains, "you preformed passibly on the obedience training, and a **** should always be eager for her next punishment. However, a good doggy doesn't speak, or think for that matter." The correction is punctuated by the shocks intensifying enough to make your asshole twitch. "An excited bark would have been sufficient." Another powerful jolt and anal spasm. "Also you must get permission before lubing a toy or tasting another slaves ass." The voice pauses to let you savor your rectum shocks. "Being a **** for the Sirus Syndicate is more than just being a BDSM slut. You're already one of those. There are standards for obedience and strict rules you must follow. Don't worry, the required lessons will be drilled into you before you leave here."

You have to give the **** box's designers credit. Fuck, the shocks are charging up your pussy. This anal play is arousing you more than usual. Could there have been an aphrodisiac in the food? Here you are the tough-as-nails bitch-breaker halfway to an ass-gasm. I mean sure, it's happened before, but that had more to do with that very sexy Denarian with her skilled hands and incredible strap-on.

After a prolonged game of Zap Your Butthole, the plug retracts into the ceiling. It is wedged in so tight that you're momentarily pulled off the floor before it pops free of your abused sphincter. The cramped space briefly transforms into something resembling a bathroom. It is hard to meet your hygiene needs while the shackles hogtie you, but you manage.

However, the Syndicate's M.O. is to debase their slaves at every opportunity. You are given instructions to clean and a small brush (it has a penis shaped handle so you can hold it in your mouth). Scrubbing the tiny cell would normally take a few minutes, but once again, the short chains make things more complicated. Impatient, the voice (ever monotone) calls you a useless slut and encourages you with swats from a flogger as you worm around your space, **** on the handel of your brush. The whole thing is a more than a little frustrating, especially since the electro-play turned you on so much. You are near giving up all semblance of obedience to ram the cock handle in your pussy when it is taken away, and your bathroom folds into the wall.

The hints of normal life are replaced by a robot arm that locks cuffs tightly around the base of your breasts and pulls you up so only your knees can touch the ground. A ribbed dildo extends from the floor into your pussy. Your muscles tighten around the lubed invader for balance as another robot arm grabs your foxy hair and tugs it up. You are left like that, on the tips of your knees. The rod in your pussy; metal circles making your tits bulge, and the arm painfully keeping you upright by your hair. While the dim lights wink out, the unsympathetic voice informs you that you will now be given an eight hour "sleep break." Gripping the ribbed dildo is the least painful (if more exhausting) way to stay up, so you flex your pleasure muscles and settle in for a long night, not even sure if it is night.

To your surprise, sleep does find you. A splash of water is your wake up call. It leaves you sputtering, red hair clinging to your face. The magnetic mechanisms locking your ankles and wrists together release you, and you can lift your exhausted pussy off the ribbed phallus. Knees aching from grinding on the cold metal, boobs and hair sore from being pulled up, you take a moment to relax on the floor.

Machine arms burst from the wall to manhandle your limp body, massaging your boobs both before and after taking the rings off. They lock cuffs just above your elbows and knees then connect them together in front of you with a short loop of chain. The metal bands remain around your ankles and wrists. You guess they are permanent like the collar around your neck.

The tight shackles that pull your elbows to your knees **** you to perpetually stick your ass out. Thus you are not surprised when the **** box gives you a good morning spanking. "Not because you did anything wrong," it tells you, "just starting the day off right." Despite the stinging in your backside, it is a concept you can agree with.

After a good ass reddening, you are informed that the next round of training will teach you to fully enjoy a single cock. It starts when Uckerna shlong springs from one of your cell's walls. It's flaccid but at least 7 inches long and thicker than any erect human penis you've seen (and you've seen your share.) After some begging the cruel voice finally gives you permission to lick it. You do, acting eager with little difficulty. And your excitement only increases as the meat trunk hardens and grows from your efforts. It's very realistic, complete with artificial muscles that shudder and flex while you tongue it. The anticipation of what could happen next fills your pussy with warmth.

You are not disappointed. After sufficiently pleasing the cock, you are spun around by powerful arms in the blink of an eye. The engorged dildo presses at the opening of your pleasure hole, making you moan. A robot hand grips your collar, tangling your hair in its fingers and pulls you onto each of the thick cock's slow, deep thrusts.

"Ah, ah, ahhh," you gasp as the rhythm of the wonderful sex increases. In due time, it becomes a raw, primal pounding. Lost to bliss, your body rocks back and forth on the heavenly dildo. Manhandled by the strong arms and your cunt filled, multiple orgasm splash out of your full pussy and wash over your body. The muscles tense and bulge within you. A jet of jizz fills your cunt, but the fucking doesn't stop (Uckerna are known for their stamina). After the monster dildo's second orgasm, you are flipped on to your back and your bound limbs fail into the air. You scream and squirt your own orgasms onto the thick dildo multiple times before it finishes pleasuring you.

When the dildo retracts you're an exhausted and contented heap on the floor. The life of a **** doesn't seem so bad; you have to keep reminding yourself this is only temporary. The mechanical voice gives you time to catch your breath before saying "your master is a ... Gas Bag ... your next training will teach you to properly fellate his genitals." You repress a chuckle. Whoever programmed this place could have easily looked up the proper name for Irk's species, but they settled on the more apt description. Even when it's turning you into a cock-craving fucktoy, the Syndicate has its charms.

A lump pokes into your tiny chamber. You feel no need to rush over to it, and only begin crawling when the walls start closing in and push you towards the disappointing bulge. "Don't be shy," orders the voice as your box becomes even smaller. Bound elbow to knee, you cautiously brush the chode with your hand and hear a clicking sound behind you.

Over your shoulder, you see a sextoy bident of doom protruding from the wall. It has a large vibrator tipped with a rubber ball. Below the magic wand (about the distance between your anus and pussy), there is a shock prod, much smaller but still very intimidating. The stick jabs forward delivering a corrective jolt to your pussy. You yelp in pain and surprise. The uncaring voice informs you "if there is a cock to suck, you should worry about it and nothing else."

Your head bows towards the tennis ball sized pile of folds. With your tongue, you tentatively explore your new 'masters' surrogate. In response, the vibrator rubs your asshole, rewarding you for good work. You are left to learn through experimentation with the pain/pleasure prongs providing feedback.

The pathetic lump is uninteresting; you have to constantly reminding yourself to keep pretending and that this is only temporary. A particular set of wrinkles does catch your attention. Repeated shocks to your pussy tell you all but the gentlest of touches to the sensitive folds are painful.

After what feels like days (but was probably only an hour) of kissing, sucking, and stroking the boring stub-dick, a nutrient sludge spurts out. It's obviously an exaggeration; Gas Bags ejaculate condensed pellets to conserve resources. Hungry, you lick your meal up despite the unappatizing dish it is presented on.