Walking naked and bound

Your hobbled walk through Terrador's streets is humiliating. Doubled over in bondage, your ass sticks out while your tied tits dangle, and because of the hobble, you can only take small steps. Every time your bare feet touch Terrador's gritty floor, it is a constant reminder that there is nothing between you and the evil station.

To make matters worse, you feel yourself getting aroused. Its not your fault; you get aroused doing something your not supposed to, especially if its risky. And walking naked through public getting leered at by gangsters is very naughty.

It doesn't help that the sites of Terrador are sexy in their own way. In fact, the first of Terrador's inhabitants you see is a biker chick straddling a purring speeder. The collection of tattooed muscles and spiked metals is definitely enough to turn you on, but she is followed by a topless **** with big, bouncing boobs buoyant in the breeze. The wild domme didn't say anything to you but her eyes gave you a thorough examination. Just after passing you, the biker chick stopped for a second allowing some more slack to the leash connecting the ****'s wolf collar to her bike. "Stop gawking at that exhibitionist whore and catch up, Muffin," she jeered back at the **** jogger in a harsh voice. "If you get tired this easily, you won't last five minutes in that Turnk orgy you're so keen on."

Not long after, you pass by a shop that sells sex toys. Out front, another **** is bound to a sybian. She yells out the stores slogan in between cries of pleasure. A counter next to her claims she has had 19 orgasms this hour. You know some of those she faked but suspect its not too many. As you watch the writhing robotic rod of the on unoccupied yet still active model beside her, you do feel a surprising amount of envy for the bound sex ****.

You feel less envy for a public-use **** you pass. The naked woman has a post on either side of her that her wrists and ankles are shackled to. She has only a tasteful amount of cum splattered across her thighs, tits and face, so she must have just started or been washed recently. Either way the free-use whore has been over whelmed. She limply hangs against her bonds, her exhausted eyes almost closed.

A few yards down you spot an Oo'lick waitress, wearing only a collar and decorative apron that doesn't even reach her pussy. The blue skinned beauty places a plate of food in front of a patron before crawling under the table.

Other slaves pass you. A pale redhead with long legs stands on tip toes atop of a **** taxi. She is restrained to the small square cart only by a long slender bar topped with a vibrating dildo and buried in her pussy. She has her arms at her side, but her fingers are splayed for balance as she quivers on the vibrating cock. A collar is the only thing the freckled beauty wears, but a delicate pair of blue panties are held between her teeth. The sight on its own is erotic, but you also love how one strategically placed bar can control a **** better than a whole cage.

But the walk isn't just pussy moistening sights. After all, there is still a bucket hanging from your boobs. Frequently, passing strollers drop coins or chits in your swinging container possibly to support your training but most likely to see your face wince when the tugging on your tits increases. You groan after each coin clinks into your bucket. It is hard enough to keep the bucket from swaying and pulling your sensitive nubs this way and that (something that is both painful and frustratingly arousing). And each bit of loose change makes the slowly increasing nipple weight swing with renewed vigor.

One yuppie dressed in a disgracefully new pilot's outfit pulls out his wallet chip and swipes it below your bucket like you are some kind of walking vending machine. You chuckle at the inexperience that makes him think he can pay for everything electronically. Your amusement lessens when your bucket chimes "donation accepted." And you are ready to quote Queen Victoria when shocks radiate from the cable into your already sore breasts. Instead, you just scream making that damn bell still painfully clamped to your tongue preform a ringing dance. Your startled cries alert more scum to the possibility of making the sexy redhead squeal.

Over the course of your walk, Your ass is speckled with stinging pin pricks for the impish drone's micro-gun. Your follower insists you ring your bell loud enough to be heard. In busy sections, this means you are **** to wag your tongue like a panting slut. At every intersection you must also guess the direction you are supposed to go. Often, you're wrong and receive countless tiny pings until you randomly start walking the right direction.

To its credit, the drone usually keeps the perverted population of Terrador station away from you, but a few times you must squirm your way through a cramped **** point or large crowd. On these occasions groping is common: a tentacle of suckers kissing your tit, or a Uckerna slapping your ass. For some, the drone makes an attempt to defend your honor. When a towering Turnk rubs his double cock on your waist high face, the drone threatens him with a blast of fire. But you did still get twin smears of pre-cum from his semi-erect shlongs across your cheek. Other passersby are stealthier. As some unknown stranger walks past, they deftly manage to moisten a finger in your pussy and **** it into your ass without incurring the drones wrath.

You spend several hours meandering naked through the wretched hive of scum and villainy. You suspect that there isn't really a designed path and the drone is just programmed to torment you whenever possible. But eventually, you make it to your destination, some sort of **** parking lot (there are empty pillories and shackles in evenly spaced stalls). It is mostly empty, but...

Irk is waiting for you, a grin stretching his stupid face. "Lemme see what you earned," he grunts and digs through your bucket. Pulling out mitt-fulls of spare change and casino tokens, he starts counting to himself. Motionless, you glare at him. Your so annoyed with him that the sting to your ass catches you completely by surprise and makes you yelp; apparently the drone still expects you to ring that smegma-eating bell. Choosing embarrassment over more blows to your bruised behind, you exercise your tongue like a thirsty bitch while Irk finishes counting.

"Good little ****," he belches, dismissing the drone. "Sticking your ass out and swinging your tits for master. Showing off your sexy body like that earned a fair amount of coin. Not enough to pay for a stint in the **** box, mind you. But enough to rent one of these. Have a seat," he commands and shoves you. The hobble tie prevents you from stepping backward fast enough and you land ass-first on a cushion. It softens your fall but the blow to your pride is still significantly painful.

"Ghaah, fuck 'ou, phit bag," you spit as he roughly yanks the clamps of your sore nipples one by one.

"I'm going to use this for the display," he murmurs untying your whip from your hands. Hearing 'the display' fills you with apprehension and you immediately try to reach some knots with your somewhat free hands while he finally takes that gods damned clamp of your tongue.

"None of that," he says catching you and locking your wrists in cuffs.

Running out of cards to play "Look Irk, I have--"

The talking trash bag shushes you with his finger. "Call me master, or handsome from now on."

Internally, you insult him in ten alien languages but **** a smile. "Handsome," you say in a honeyed tongue, "I have some information the Syndicate will want. Someone set up a gravity scoop on one of your hyper corridors. If you let me go I will tell you where."

"See this is why you need training. A proper **** would just tell me. Or more likely, save her cunt mouth for cock-sucking. I think the ol' Syndicate won't notice a few supplies missing." He explains forcing a ring gag into your mouth.

His work done, the brainless thug steps back and hits a button on a nearby console. You hear a whirring sound, and your eyes are drawn to a chain connected to your ankle tie as it is raised. Soon your feet are raised with it, and your body is pulled somewhat upside-down. The loop of rope still pulls your neck to your knees, so Your torso is horizontal like it had been for your humiliating walk, but you are tits up now. Your hands are anchored to the ground and pulled back, straining your shoulders.

For the next few minutes, Irk mostly leaves you alone while he sets up a small plaque near you. But his hands do grope your flesh each time he passes by. You can't see what the plaque says about you, but your whip and underwear are hung from it. You suspect it is a bastardized story of how Irk enslaved you, or lewd facts he made up about you. A few people stop to read it and examine you. Irk addresses the curious criminals, announcing "5 credits for her pussy. 4 credits for her ass..."

"No shit! Natalia! You weren't kidding Irk," a stranger laughs over Irk. A mercenary in rusty armor saunters into your view "Remember me bitch?" You have no idea who he is. "I was chasing after that harlot, and you somehow got her first." Well, that doesn't narrow it down. "I don't know how you got the bitch first, but I have just the thing for cheaters like you. Mikey, get your holo-camera out. Irk, where do I put my 4 credits?"