You choose to eat.

Your stomach whines at you, its been far too long since you've eaten. Making it over to the mannequins is humiliating because of your bindings. You have to scoot around on your knees, naked, to a fucked up hamster feeder. Sitting in front of the feeders, they are truly life-sized.

"Good ****," the woman coos, "It helps if you don't think of it as a toy. Pleasure them as though they were one of your lovers."

This toy is just a hunk of silicone. You couldn't possibly see this as some old lover. This is simply a means for you to eat, and you need to stuff your face in it. You look at the fake pussy in front of you, it's surprisingly life like with moderately large lips that stick out slightly. The hips swell up to a curvaceous belly and abdomen. The coloration is spot on, a medium complexion torso with perfectly pink lips. You glance up to the breasts and notice the same level of detail on the nipples. Placing your tongue on the artificial crotch, you taste nothing but sterile silicone, thankfully. You start moving your tongue around where it's clit should be like it was 'one of your old lovers'.

Suddenly a voice starts speaking from the toy. "This is your purpose. You are a tool. A sex to--"

You stop, snapping your tongue away from the stupid toy. "What the fuck is--" You are interrupted as the woman slaps you in the face.

"Master! Always begin your sentences with Master:"

"M-Master, what the fuck is that voice?" You're too frustrated to think about how you just called this woman your "Master", you just want an answer.

"Part of your training, ****." The woman hums, "You will hear it every time you eat, it is your choice whether or not you listen to it." She turns to the door and leaves, you can't help but steal a glance at her amazing ass.

A quick clunk and the door is closed in front of you. Not only do I have to service this piece of plastic to eat, but I get to listen to this thing as well. Great.

You sit, your face buried in some approximation of female genitalia, wondering if you're about to receive a mouthful of potato soup or cum. All the while, the damn thing continues to drone on: This is your purpose. You are a tool. A sex toy for others. You need cum. You live for it. After what seems like an eon of tonguing the thing, a fluid begins to flow from the fake vagina. Too thick to be water, but not thick enough to be soup. Stopping your tongue's ministrations, you try to analyze the flavors that slowly seep your way. A tinge of salt, a neutral taste that you can't discern from your own spit, and a hint of copper. The slow drip quickly becomes a splash, then a mouthful. This is your purpose. You are a tool. A sex toy for others. You need cum. You live for it. The toy convulses momentarily, vagina contracting almost comically. That was not at all what you were expecting. Somehow that should have been a mouthful of jizz, after all, why would they bottle up girl-cum? Either way, it looks like you've got a 50/50 chance of enjoying whatever comes out of these toys.

You let out a big sigh of relief, but then you realize that you'll need to suck the cock next to you to get some food in your painfully empty belly. You believe the woman that just left. Someone will come ****-feed you if you don't actually eat. There are cameras watching your every move. It's time to suck.

Shuffling over to the male toy, you get your first good look at it. It's the picture of fitness without actually being a Ken doll. The toy is just as exaggerated as the female model next to it, with sculpted abs, a bulging chest, and a huge cock with a large ball sack, it's the cliche dream guy. You shake your head out its reverie, _it's just a straw for food, who cares what it looks like? _You place your mouth on the tip of the toy, and the voice returns: _This is your purpose. You are a tool. A sex toy for others. You need cum. You live for it. _You sigh, _It's just a straw for food, nothing else. _With your lips wrapped around the tip of the fake dick, you move your tongue back and forth with a need born of sheer hunger and anticipation. You know that this should give you soup, and you've never wanted soup more than this very moment. You try to block out the dick in your mouth and simply concentrate on the food that's coming. This is your purpose. You are a tool. A sex toy for others. You need cum. You live for it. Your tongue movies back and forth as you suck hard on the stupidly large food straw. It pulses, swelling slightly in your mouth, another indication of their ridiculous budget in this place. Along with the pulses comes the soup you're so **** for, it pumps out in quick spurts, quickly filling your mouth with warmth. You're surprised that it's so hot, not scorching but just below that. This is your purpose. You are a tool. A sex toy for others. You need cum. You live for it. The consistency is a perfect puree, very drinkable and quite tasty. You drink greedily, swallowing as quickly as you can before it pumps more into your mouth. After several mouthfuls, you wonder how much you get for each meal, but you're no where close to full. Four more mouthfuls later, the thing stops pumping, and you have to suck the last drops out of it. This is your purpose. You are a tool. A sex toy for others. You need cum. You live for it.

You sit back on your bound ankles, out of breath and not really satisfied by that little batch of soup. Your stomach is almost full, but its the ate-too-fast kind of full that fades quickly. That's damn good soup, you think, licking your lips and wishing for more. Partially satiated, your mind clears enough for you to consider your situation. You're sitting in a cell, bound against your will and just finished drinking out of a fake dick.

You have no idea what time it is, was that breakfast, lunch, or dinner? She said it had been 12 hours since you were last fed. That should probably be breakfast then.

Without noticing, you think out loud: "What am I supposed to do for the rest of the day?"

The woman's voice comes from somewhere up above you, "Wait, or practice."

You know what she means.