Kinky
Dept

Author's note: This story has free artwork and is also available as inlayed text in JPG format (right after page 4 in the link).

Notice: Brief castration and enema shower. Keep your mouths closed and your crotches covered!
Since this is a free story, some corners were skipped in the editing cycle—I write these for fun—while my bigger kinky projects receive more attention.


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The air was damp from the many discharging enemas. Inside the infamous slave prison, nobody escaped its seeping stench. Thick, hydraulic pistons randomly penetrated holes, and regretful sobs and moans formed a constant, inescapable surge of suffering. Sturdy steel gags in everyone's mouths prevented any meaningful communication. High-security steel confinement and explicit punishments and penetrations were the established philosophy to rehabilitate serious offenders. Many filthy and sweaty inmates within the prison had to serve decades for their heinous crimes. They called them storage units within the prison, with up to five thousand inmates per unit. The many floors had the exact same view for the masses of frustrated and struggling occupants. They have become part of the prison's walls and their bodies won't ever be the same after. They came in unconscious, were measured, mounted, and awoken by an uncomfortable rectal touch or, if particularly drowsy, an already progressing enema. The first hard bulb on the punishment plug was more than sufficient to break them into their new immobilized reality. "Hurry up!" one feeder slave said grumpily. "I don't need another caning today." "Alright, alright, keep your panties on," the other snapped. 'She's such a softy of a slave,' feeder #1 thought. 'The canings weren't so bad.' The two well-chained slaves were the only ones permitted to talk inside. Trapped within this place, a slave's privilege was according to one's station in life. The persistent long-term tube gags were certainly no fun to wear. Welded shut behind the neck, each prisoner's ability to speak remained reduced to animal noises, not human speech. No fun at all! And #1 was glad she had permission to talk. Due to no gag in her mouth, permission was implicitly given in this place. With the liquid lunch of over five rows of prisoners at hand, the two feeder slaves were set for another exhausting round through the doorless corridors of statutory suffering. Luckily, every single inmate had been pacified by its restraints and was made completely harmless. The more motivated feeder slave, beside #1, was already two stations ahead. Feeder #1 was lagging again. "It's not like they have to go anywhere, you know?" feeder #1 said to the other. She had to be careful with each step and movement and work within the narrow constraints she had been given by her chains. Steel does not forgive any sudden mistakes. Worse, inside this place, #1 had to wear what they called 7-point slave chains: An unpopular restraint amongst slaves that made use of the wearer's tender nipple rings as well, further hampering the chained hands' reach. Too short to stand up straight, slave chains were exactly the kind of gear you'd expect inside this place—well, not at first. But the noisy ball-and-chain at #1's ankle should have been a hint. The few wall-free feeders were kept permanently in chains, making even walking a constant ordeal. The overseer women in charge of this block were responsible for up to five thousand encased inmates. They weren't exactly breaking a sweat though. They only had to watch their monitors while chatting happily, sometimes playing with one of the bad slaves to pass the time (and they had a lot of time to pass). Supervision of the 'free' service slaves was sporadic but also often fun. That's me, a service slave. My welded-shut chains will do that supervising job just fine. But it wouldn't be a prison without my collar and implanted slave transmitter. They constantly track my movements and safely keep me within my designated premise in this huge correctional place. Still, even though I'm just a short-term inmate, there are upsides to my 'job' as a feeder. But it's not exactly a job, is it? Because slaves don't work jobs. It's endless slave labor. Marked and dehaired, #1 was naked, chained, and filthy like any other common slave girl. As a feeder, she pulled on the long, black feeding hose, dragged her heavy steel ball along another cautious step, then stared at a pair of beautiful slave tits, sticky, sweaty, and abused, but gorgeously soft and round. #73's station was always a welcome distraction. 'I wonder how those pierced nipple stretchers must feel?' she thought with a mischievous smirk. 'At least nothing dangles on them. But they're surely aching for someone's touch.' Talking about the upsides: with a filthy hand, feeder #1 caressed an orb of warm slave meat. It was firm yet soft, natural and heavy, and only lightly abused (by the whip). Feeder #1 pressed on a reddened nipple and rubbed its exposed tip. Its texture under her finger felt like a soft, warm button. Immediately, a frustrated moan (and some drool) escaped the immobilized woman on the wall. But not just from the walled prisoner: #1 felt a similar twinge of unsatisfiable horniness erupting in her groin. She bit her lip because she knew touching her own bald pussy was utterly pointless. Many thick and welded labia rings kept her poor pussy shut. Together with her cruel clit shield, it made touching herself rather pointless (she had tried on many an occasion). The prison's chastity piercings unfortunately worked exceedingly well! This filthy feeder had been stuck with a charged-up groin for a while. 'Those stupid prison rules!' she thought to herself. The hot wave of forbidden lust surged through her chained body. Unable to go anywhere, it only further stiffened her nipples and lubricated her already sticky thighs. It was an unwanted wetness because she couldn't do anything about it for the foreseeable future. Suffering for a few chaste months already, her orgasmless existence was the worst punishment of all to endure inside this place. This enslaved woman was no true felon and only had to serve inside the high-sec prison for a minor offense. Still, eight months of forced prison labor—even for a slave—was no walk in the park, she had to begrudgingly admit. Even feeder slaves had to abide by the same chaste regulations as the encased felons bolted to the walls. But she wouldn't give the overseers the pleasure again this time! They surely watched her rubbing her pussy piercings in vain while leering over their monitors. Feeling the anger, she tensed in her chains until her breasts were pulled and her nipple rings burned just as angrily. It helped—she managed to barely stay in control of herself. Below, her newly fitted spiked weight dangled dangerously on its long chain. It was attached to her lowest labia ring and pricked her calves like a sharp knife. It had been the latest addition to her uniform. (Maybe she shouldn't have stared back at one of the overseers after all?) She hadn't gotten used yet to the slightly different way it required her to walk if she didn't want to feel its annoying stings across her legs. In here, it could be worse though: at least her asshole was free and she could take a shit whenever she wanted. For once, her slave holes weren't needed for the job. And together with the inmates gushing enemas, it made no difference to her audience if she squatted over the central gutter and took a piss or shit. It was a spark of independence while she drudged in her chains. It's the small victories as a baldie; a term describing long-term slaves with permanently hairless scalps, sometimes left with their eyebrows intact, sometimes not. #1 and #2 were the lucky ones around here. "Hurry up, #1!" the other feeder shouted. "Alright, alright!" she snapped back. The monotonous work made it hard not to daydream. Feeder #1 looked up from #73's magnificent breasts. Her hand had still been groping it absentmindedly. This walled slave's eyes were still full of vigor to #1's surprise. And, judging by the lack of rust on her form-fitted casts, she had probably been mounted under a year ago. Yet, her punishment plug had already changed her for the worse—if you ask her—but for the better, if you ask the criminal justice system. Slow, powerful thrusts invaded her body without much resistance. The smooth, continuous motion hid the machine's true strength. Human muscle vs. hydraulic forces, there was but one winner. 'That checkered steel surface doesn't look comfy either,' #1 thought. It made her clench her own, unstuffed hole without a choice. She was even craving her old buttplug again, the one she had to wear before she had been sent to prison. It made her only more conscious about how much she craved to be obedient and servile to someone greater than herself. For the time being, that duty was feeding inmates. Submerged in the stench of toilets, she had trouble focusing. "I bet you like your ass plug by now, don't you." They all had become rhetorical questions. For months, she could speak with nobody except #2. #73's muffled moans were interrupted by her twitching body. It had swallowed its final and largest ball. It was routine to see inside here. With daily and inexhaustible persistence, the steel shaft's three progressively larger balls eventually disappeared between anyone's ass cheeks. Her flushed and sweaty face divulged the usual trails of dried dirt across her cheeks. #1 could feel the inmate's breast starting to tremble—was it the start of her painful cleaning yet? Unfortunately, after having to endure the daily humiliation of full anal penetration, there were permanent mental and physical changes forced upon #73's life. By now, the suffering inmate knew the inevitable next step well: her ass dildo held the power to inflate her colon with a nasty, liquid pain. They will neither know when it will exactly happen nor for how long they will be kept stuffed and bloated. Her dildo reappeared again, covered by white slime, and leaving the inmate's rear hole obscenely gaping and dripping from above. Again, it moved smoothly upwards. The plug's escalating sizes stretched her broken hole until fully swallowed, then reappearing again in one smooth motion as if encountering no meaningful resistance. With wide eyes, she sure looked back with a horribly thirsty and confused expression. "Aren't you a hungry one," feeder #1 said mockingly. "Do you crave the hose so much?" Unintelligible moans trickled out of #73's hole. As an overworked feeder, #1 barely noticed the animal-like noises any longer. After filling up over five hundred holes twice a day, the mounted prisoners have become nothing more to her than noisy holes that needed filling. But this one deserved some special care. With her gruel-stained hand, feeder #1 bent her crooked body carefully forward and reached into #73's mouth, carefully, because her chained nipples needed no further agitation for today! Nor did the shit-stained gutter chute to the sewer in front of her feet require an accidental sacrifice of her heavy ball again. Catching herself in time, with her limiting chains, would be an already lost battle. Her chains had inevitably taught her the hard way and she always had to be very careful. Cleaning a gag hole with her fingers was a small gesture, and #1 certainly gave preferred treatment inside the prison. (Like a tiny despot. It's what the place did to her, did to everybody.) It was perfectly safe to handle the walled inmates as they had no teeth left. They had no more need for what future awaited them. All they could do was moan, piss, and shit themselves. And nobody cared about that. Most had already become incontinent. After just a month of rectal punishment, no asshole remained unspoiled by the giant steel monsters from below. #1 liked to touch some chosen, held-open mouth holes with her fingers and explore them—if they had a special feat or were particularly pretty ones. There was a vast selection available inside and they could do nothing about #1's touchy compulsiveness. Each tongue was very eager, but more interesting was the softness of the hole behind the steel tube, with not a single tooth left! 'They will certainly make excellent objects after they have served their sentence,' #1 thought, retracted her spit-soaked fingers, thrust the smeared feeding hose into the waiting hole, and routinely pressed the handle's button. The gurgling started immediately and so did the eye-rolling as the green sludge pumped into the woman's stomach. Feeder #2, across the central gutter, gave #1 another watchful glance while ten slow seconds of struggling, gulping, and choking concluded behind the feeding nozzle. "I'm sorry but they made us piss into it again today," #1 said inattentively, then oriented her wrist shackle like it was annoying jewelry. Until #1 spotted those brown, lively but now tear-soaked eyes. Her hairless face was a filthy mix of regret, humiliation, and seemingly plagued by all kinds of pains. Just a few feet below, and like a funny magic trick, the entire anal steel piston, with its last, massive steel ball, had completely disappeared again in the woman's body. It remained in place. From below, she was now being filled as well. #1 knew the secret game, the game the overseers liked to play with the feeders. They timed the rectal cleaning and punishment cycle with the feeders' schedule. She could see the bulging stomach of the prisoner, already trying to expel the painful liquid, either unconsciously or as she used to before she had become part of a prison wall. But the machine dictated that special moment for every prisoner. The feeding hose beeped but #1 left her thumb a few more seconds on the grip's innocent button. "You won't mind a few more pounds, 73, will you," #1 said gleefully. "Let's make those tits grow a size." There came no objections, only some twitching and eye-bulging. #1 quickly stepped back, chains clinking. The immobilized woman's lungs heaved for air, her hips shook within their restraints, and the steel apparatus below, with its liquid content, caused an insurmountable pressure. The third and largest ball was always a battle. The thick steel plug slowly emerged from her violated asshole and was accompanied by the usual moaning and howling—a persistent and recurring process the machine always won. Stretching, filling, and violating a felon's asshole was part of their cruel sentencing. #1 knew that. They called it 'correctional forced anal penetration' or something sick like that. Together with a walled inmates' chastity device, it made sure they would behave and stay straight during their long years of incarceration. To #1, it had become a sick pleasure to watch, and one from where there was no running away—neither from the mind-boggling stench of shit and piss that lay trapped within like an ever-strengthening, hazy murkiness, nor the layer of prison filth that coated her entire naked body like she had already become far less valuable than any chained farm animal. Her front-row seats only confirmed it: her lowest point in her life yet. She should have been more ashamed of her past lack of obedience as a slave. (Had she been a good girl, she might have.) #1 watched in disgust as another walled prisoner's rear hole bulged deep-red, expanding and spreading ever larger along the checkered and smeared surface of its enema plug. From the stifled sounds of pain that filled the corridors, #73's pitiful cries joined in as the rectal shocks started its hypnotic twitching of her anus. No, they didn't allow them to relax their holes and get it over with quickly. The mounted prisoners had to learn that they were no longer in control over anything, not their bodies, their orgasms, or their filthy excretions. Breaking their will and making them compliant was inevitable. Months of this forceful ordeal might be endurable, but everything past a year was showing decisive results. As convicted felons, they had gambled away their chance to be valuable assets to society. #1 had trouble looking away from the sick spectacle, watching the bulbous steel shaft causing even more suffering to the encased inmate. Her own hole twitched involuntarily because she knew how the first bulb felt (thanks, overseers). But how the powerful hydraulic piston managed to make the entire three balls fit always scrambled #1's thought process and she quickly had to distract herself. Even #73 will eventually join the club of inmates with a destroyed asshole. She will remain loose, gaping, and leaking for the rest of her life. Her changed body will require a beefy permaplug to help her keep her ass juice in. At that devious thought, #1 had accidentally sprayed some slimy gruel on #73's chest, then quickly moved along to the next station. The spray of liquified shit behind #1 was nauseating—the sounds were easier to ignore—but not so much the stench the inmates made. And she wasn't exactly presented with a nice pair of rubber boots as a slave. But all these thoughts were pointless. #1 knew that shaft of hard steel would not leave a felon alone. It could be three forceful enemas, it could be five. A felon doesn't know. With the randomness, they tried to keep the inmates on their toes, #1 reckoned. After seeing for months (and up close) what fate could await her, it certainly kept her behaving. She had no inclination of ending up mounted on a wall as well. #1 glanced over at feeder #2. She was still two stations ahead of her. As feeders, their trough-on-wheels gave them some leeway with the amount of coiled-up hose they had before one had to wait on the other. 'I have to hurry!' she thought while fighting her body's constant exhaustion. The next mounted inmate in front of #1 looked meager and mentally absent: #108. Its short, welded-together nipple bar gave the slacking feeder slave a shiver across her naked, hairless body. #1 promptly pushed the nozzle of her dripping hose into the waiting hole. Dinner was served. The nasty but nourishing liquid began to fill another stomach without hiccups. Its pressurized flow was as forceful as the enemas, but that didn't bother #1 any longer. Meanwhile, she couldn't help herself again. With food-stained fingers, she playfully pulled on the short piercing bar. It was firm and tense and couldn't be lifted far. 'No wonder with her small tits,' #1 thought. This one gave no reaction. Like many inside here, she had been mentally and physically changed by her station. She reacted no longer to the force-feeding, the pulling on her nipple-bar, or her bottom hole's cleaning-and-punishment procedure. Her eyes were empty, and her body reduced to a broken piece of meat. Even her enema content leaked out beneath while her steely friend hadn't even fully retracted yet from her half-encased body. 'What a bore.' Feeder #1 dragged herself and the long, black hose to the next station (and to make up time). It was rare to see them in the wild: males. But #1 had a few of those as well on her route. They had become pretty valuable in the Empire but were much more prone to violence if left intact. Even their sentences were much more severe. He was always one of her highlights: FUCKPIG. #1 fell on her knees in front of him and gave a tired sigh. Her hampered body needed another well-deserved break. Her clunky and shortened feeder chains didn't make her job any easier. He fancied her and that made it so much more fun. Now at eye level, #1 could barely see a glimmer of white coming through the narrow slits of his heavy iron mask. He drooled constantly with his tongue ball, never making a sound, either couldn't or wouldn't. She had to lean closer so her shackled hands could reach him. Whenever she touched his strong, warm thighs, it gave her a shiver—him too! She massaged them and watched his mask mischievously. She knew the permanent devices he wore on his genitals wouldn't permit him any pleasure, but one could always try. Her own poor leg muscles radiated with a warm ache. For just a moment, she could relax. With her grimy finger, she traced the aged letters on his stomach: FUCKPIG. He really must have pissed off someone. #1 often wondered whose fuckpig he had been and what horrible thing he must have done to end up mounted in here? His iron casts were one of the oldest by the looks of it. She returned to the business at hand. She crept closer on her knees to marvel at the unusual steel jewelry stuck between his spread-apart legs. The power she had over them, the felons, was somewhat exhilarating. They were completely helpless, made harmless like a lamb, and were now naked objects mounted on a wall. And even though she herself was chained pretty severely, she could still dominate them easily. 'What a rush!' she thought and bit her lip. The many piercings in her tongue would be useless though with his hard tube. Her hands played with him. After so many years, any human touch must feel like a long-sought-after blessing. A mere thigh rubbing caused his hips to react under her hands as if the sudden attention of her sinful touch burned his skin. Throwing him a cruel smile, she gave his long weighted mouth-chain a good push. The weighty ball dangled from his mouth hole and spit dribbled. She returned her horny attention to his priced jewels. His tube finally gave a forbidden twitch—if she hadn't just imagined it? "Nothing more?" she said, laughing. There was always some male drool coming from his steely tip, leaking more like a pussy than a cock. She cleaned it with a finger and wiped it off on his thigh. It was rare to see them intact. She only knew them from pictures. Now, her hands encircled such a warm bag of skin, pulling and squeezing it. Not a sound came from the male. She pulled harder, growing fascinated by its elasticity. With enough strength, his illegal gonads could stretch much further than she had expected. (They were outlawed in the matriarchal Empire.) Just above his bulging sack, a tight cuff sat welded together with prominent rings. 'That must have been for his leash?' Fuckpig's enema plug hadn't been idle below. No prisoner was spared or could escape the invasive touch. "You must have been fucked in your manly hole for years and years..." No reply came back. She could already hear it gurgling in his stomach. He was receiving another forceful filling. "Poor you!" Her hand massaged his stomach, gauging its inner content. Her own forbidden pussy gave a twitch and her thighs clenched involuntarily together. She had to be quick to satisfy her growing curiosity. #1 tensed her own nipple chain to reach but quickly bent forward to ease the aching of her own steel prison. Her hands had caught his slave badge. Covered by a layer of rust or grime, it was still perfectly readable. "A rank 10, are you," #1 said, more as a mocking statement than a real question. It was a dreaded rank and even below fully transformed pet girls. Nevertheless, she looked at him and his expressionless steel face as if expecting a snarky reply. It was a somewhat archaic and traditional way to mark a slave and display its inferior rank. Unluckily for him, they had used a rather large ring and had purposefully pierced it straight through one of his balls; a by now aged warning no doubt—a second one and he will be a eunuch. Well, he hadn't lost the other yet, so technically, he was half a male yet. Slave ranks of 10-15 were the cursed ranks. There was almost no return from them. They were the lowest of the lowly. Their ranks were comprised of non-rehabilitatable convicts, toilet slaves, rubber dolls, milk slaves (male and female), and medical guinea pigs. The use of severe long-term restraints and body transformations were usually the reason for their hampered, sorry state of existence. While this one here was securely mounted, and after decades of violations, his rear hole leaked with a steady flow. His huge punishment plug was still fully rammed inside his filthy body. The white, leaking enema liquid was a sure sign that he was internally fully cleaned (not that the punishment program cared about such details). With his sphincter muscle undoubtedly destroyed, he couldn't hold any liquid. To #1's surprise, her sister-in-chains, #2, had come over, scraping and clinking with her heavy chains. She looked exhausted. "Ran out of juice?" #1 said mockingly. She knew #2 was all bark and no bite, the shy girl. "I...just can't work any longer," she gasped, "I need a moment!" "I won't say another word," #1 said jokingly. #2's shyness was still somewhat amusing to #1: the girl stood not only naked, pierced, and stooped by her chains, but was kept completely hairless and exposed. On top of that, she was covered in the same filthy layer of old slave gruel and splatters of who-knows-what! Yet, even now, #2 kept a polite distance from her and the male felon. She looked like good slave stock to #1—submissive, fearful, and polite—but #1 also knew that the outside world was anything but fair. All around them, hydraulically powered pistons pumped and worked, jumping to life at random. This routine could encompass either penetration, shocking electricity, or painfully bloating liquid—or all of the above coming alive at once, judging by the sometimes dramatic sounds escaping the inmates. Its constant use caused a chorus of unhappy and complaining prisoners, surrounding a feeder's ears with suffering and wailing. After a few weeks as a bystander, the brain inevitably begins to filter these miserable noises. #1 was nonetheless intent, with a hunger in her eyes. There was the same sick, lingering curiosity in her slave sister's stare. #1 knew that intimately well by now. Her sister was outfitted with the same nasty jewelry and an equally hairless crotch that was so characteristic for owned slaves. #1 bit her lip at the sight of the smooth mound and played with her tongue piercings for a moment. What would she give to make the girl orgasm under her tongue! The nights in the cage were the only time when the shy #2 couldn't keep up her brittle facade. The waist-high cage they were kept in was another cruelty during the night. The flimsy blankets inside were pitiful. Eventually, they lay cuddled together, offering each other comfort and warmth. In the morning, they often found themselves with their chains entangled and their sleepy brains overburdened with the task of unraveling their naked and bound together bodies. 'Such a pity that's locked,' #1 thought, still staring at that sweet, forbidden mound of her slave sister. #1 returned her hungry attention to the soft bag of skin, squeezing between her hands like a jelly-filled treat. Her mouth-watering reaction wasn't far off. Her sister knelt beside her. Naturally. Their chains were a horror to walk in for long. #2 watched now just as eagerly at what #1 was doing there with the male's steel-covered bits. Its forbidden fruit held an odd magnetism on #1 that she couldn't quite explain. She was a proper and proud lesbian, not a filthy hetero, yet this seemed for some reason fun to do. Her other hand grabbed his hard tube. It was warm to the touch, so warm! She rubbed it curiously, wondering if his body could still grow beneath. If she could just feel the thing! The male inmate gave no reaction when she rubbed his rusty-looking tube. His slave jewelry seemed the only stainless parts and looked as if made for eternity. A layer of dark grime slowly came off under her stroking fingers and his chastity tube began to shine again. #1 clenched her aching thighs hard without realizing it. "It has been fucking months since I have felt a good, beefy dildo inside me," she said with a sigh. A hand gently touched her unexpectedly on her back. 'Shit, did I say that out loud?' she thought with a shocked face. But the two didn't have to say anything. After months of shared nights in the cage together, and the seemingly endless days of feeding the worthless inmates, with rows after rows of nothing more than mounted bags of meat, it inevitably left its mental toll on them. Psychological changes were happening inside the complex no slave was safe from, not even the feeders who only had a few more months of their rehabilitative labor to endure. With two naked and horny women kneeling so close in front of him, and with female legs spread wherever one looks, the need for his body to explode must be a sheer horror to endure. Besides some welded-on beads at the tip of his narrow tube, #1 now also spotted another welded bead at the base of his steel-encased cock. "The poor one," she said to her sister, then showed it to her as well while pulling at the tube without care. "What is it?" she asked. His body twitched feebly. "It seems something runs through his shaft," #1 said. "Below is another one. I think they are connected. They must have shot it straight through his manhood. The poor boy." Though #1's voice sounded anything but sorry while her fingers caressed the limp cock, unable to stop herself. "You think his face is pretty under that iron mask?" #2 whispered modestly. They both giggled. All he could do—day in, day out—was to stare at the naked slaves mounted on the opposite wall, plus the chained feeders passing by twice a day with their trough-on-wheels. "Maybe it's like #73's pussy ring?" #1 suggested while fumbling around with his limp sausage. #73 was the only slave pussy for miles without a dreaded clit shield. Ok, more like within 50 stations, but #1 knew why, had tested it (naturally), and much preferred her damn clit shield. Only when there are no more nerves left to feel anything, does the application of a clit shield become redundant in slave-keeping, at least, when strict chastity is enforced. And they test it thoroughly—with pain. Either her ring severed her clitoral nerve or she had experienced a surgical punishment in the past, keeping her permanently chaste (from feeling any more pesky orgasms; at least her owner must have felt that way). #1 pulled and squeezed the shackled balls, growing frustrated and impatient with the warm but rigid toy in her hands—it was so small! That made him squirm in his iron casts. His rusty chains moved faintly, his pierced nipples looked stretched and pitiful as ever, and his lower abdomen bulged from under the waistband, expanding the letters of his humiliating designation. "It's not like they can do anything," #1 mused happily. #2 shot her a dirty look back. She had him breathing faster now. #1 slid closer on her knees to reach, then squeezed his small nipples hard. That made his big chest swell with air. #1 let her hand rest on the rusty nipple chain and watched curiously as the same lungful of air left his body with the same mysterious silence. "Can you hear his pitiful scream?" "Wha?" #2 asked. "Exactly. I'm pretty sure they have clipped his cords." "Sorry?" #2 said, staring at his by-now bulging abdomen. "His vocal cords." "Oh." "They have silenced him. He won't be able to make a peep, no matter what we do." The shy #2 swallowed uncomfortably at the thought of all the things they could still do to her. #1 spotted her reaction promptly. "Just keep your bald head down and do whatever the fuck they tell you and you'll be fine. Fuckpig here must have fucked up real good. Too bad we can't ask it, the little piggy." #1's knees hurt, but not as much as her back, neck, and ankles. She looked at the endless row to her left and sighed at the thought of having to feed them all today. Another hundred drooling holes waited for her nozzle before her next break. The heavy chain-and-ball on her ankle and the red pricks in her calves didn't exactly help her at going any faster. The male's breathing was still noticeably fast, craving for attention apparently. "Did you feed him yet?" #2 asked from the side. "Ooh. I'm not sure, actually." She noticed a wetness had crept along her thighs. Hygiene-wise, it was the least of her problems though. #1 continued to toy and mistreat the silent fuckpig. She smacked his balls and pressed hard on his swollen and bulging abdomen, coercing a sudden jet of filthy liquid out of his ass. That seemed to entertain her. But if the steel plug kept on filling him up she was unlikely to win that game. Not only did he smell of old sweat but she had managed to give his stained skin a healthy red color, particularly his chest further up had flushed a bright red. More drool came out of his mask's dark hole. But that was no news in here. "He probably can't move his stiffened limbs any longer, that's why he's struggling so feebly," #2 suggested. He was certainly breathing like he was aroused, or in great discomfort from the attention the two slave girls gave him. "I tell you what, fuckpig. Show us one erection and I won't pop your remaining egg between my fingers. How about that?" Two of her fingers began to squeeze. His faceless body shook while they both stared at his groin with a sick lust from months of unbearable sexual frustration. Nothing happened under his tube. His body trembled only further under #1's two determined fingers, squeezing his one remaining egg like pliers. Meaningless air escaped his lungs, whatever he wanted to say. While below him, more of that invading, white liquid discharged from his broken orifice. "Last chance!" #1 shouted, watching his broken cock with more and more annoyance. The nails of her two fingers sank deeper into his skin, unsure when she'd actually crack his egg. She had never done that before, actually. In his defense, he desperately struggled under his thick, bolted together iron mask, trying everything in his power to jerk a reaction out of his leaky remnant of a cock. The rectal punisher had long ago broken him and his will and only female commands and pain held a last meaning—like today. But no matter his efforts and attempts, his groin felt abused and broken beyond his control. Besides, he knew it was almost impossible to grow hard when the station had its brutal way with him, that is, fully penetrated and with his abdomen about to burst! Like a dog, he begged the two girls while he knew his voice could never leave his head again for the rest of his pitiful life. When the fully engulfed enema plug suddenly retracted with overpowering strength and violently burst free from his body. A brownish-white liquid showered the two women with the content of his colon. Both feeder slaves fell backward, sputtering. The body on the wall trembled and shook silently from the explosive release, spraying its content uncontrollably out below. With the mere push of a button in some remote room of the prison unit, all hell could break loose for a walled inmate. After the fast retraction, station X-869's powerful piston came alive again, slapping violently in and out of its felon's hole, making the beefy punishment plug seem like a toy. For a frozen second, shock and disgust erupted on the faces of both women at the sight of the spraying spectacle. The mute toy on the wall remained tensed beyond its control, unable to bounce anywhere in its skin-tight casts. Dark-orange piss sprayed out of its useless cock. Trapped in its tormented body, the male on the wall had lost control over every bodily function. #1 and #2 were spitting bits of enema out, trying to get the filthy liquids out of their eyes and mouths! Their chains made that a challenge. Four nipples were further aggravated and suddenly stretched before the sounds of bitter regret and disgust would eventually subside. They looked pitiful as they struggled on the filthy, wet floor. The punishment plug's violent motions showered them in shit. #1's heavy steel ball had fallen into fuckpig's sewer chute and she had great trouble on the wet steel plate in getting away from the unwelcome spray. All around, walled slaves watched without choice, some laughed with their gags, while most didn't, keeping their tongues inside their tubes, not daring to antagonize their feeders. In one cruel moment, fuckpig's remaining egg had finally broken and his lower pleasure hole ripped apart, destroyed beyond repair. White liquid shot frantically and uncontrollably out of its ass while the exploding waves of pain from the squirting dildo wouldn't subside. His iron casts and chains gave him not an inch and he perpetually remained fused as ever with the forlorn prison wall and its sudden ordeal. Having become a funny toy for the two horny feeders, he had now become a plaything for the overseers. #1 took a while to find her bearing again. Her short wrist chain made every unplanned movement very difficult. She looked furious and her now shiny head glowed with visible anger. Even in her 7-point chains, she eventually stood again, towering over the still-sputtering male. She didn't care any longer that she stood barefoot in a puddle of piss and shit. She could smack him! Though, she thought the better of it. For once, he wore an iron mask but also not to further antagonize her sorry nipples. "You fucking bitch!" she screamed. While on a different note, #2 scurried off with her ball-and-chain, well... as best as she could. "They're going to cane us, they're going to cane us!" she shrieked and hurried towards her dropped feeding hose. She had at least understood that an overseer had been watching all along and had full control over every station, piston, and rectal filling. Still, in #1's defense, everyone inside had most certainly one or the other flaw. "I'll show you, piggy," #1 growled. She inched closer on the wet steel floor (which didn't make her look that scary, to be honest). She inched as close as the dark sewer hole under him allowed, giving the fuckpig a good look of her. Having had an idea, but half-blind with anger, she stomped off with her heavy ball close behind, puffing and panting red-faced. Her chains kept her slow and impaired. Even more infuriated that she couldn't even stomp off, #1 picked up the filthy hose from the floor and hurried back in the same stooped posture. She truly reeked of his fresh piss and shit. "Here's your dinner!" she snarled. With one finger pressed on the tip of the nozzle and her thumb on the button, the greenish, sticky gruel shot out of its opening, showering him in turn. When #1 was done with his feeding, not a drip had landed in his mute hole. Every inch of his uncovered skin was plastered with his slimy dinner. He will have to go hungry tonight if his tongue can't reach it. Feeder #1 stepped as close to his body as before, then let go of her bulging bladder. Piss sprayed everywhere. Since her pussy had been pierced shut, it was always a mess. Now, she squeezed her pussy lips with her fingers, spraying the male's filthy body as high as possible and collecting some with her hand. In a deranged moment, she chucked handfuls of her warm piss on his helmet and into his mouth hole. "There!" she shouted and proudly examined the result. "You'll smell after me for a good week." Fuckpig's lower companion had slowed down to normal speed, fucking him more casually like a human would while still spurting out more liquified excretions. The rectal leak gushed but turned into a high-pressure hose whenever his massive plug left him unoccupied for a moment. Expressionless and peaceful, the iron mask's dark slits stared into the distance. His scalp underneath was as bald as any slave's and his hidden face looked more like a squeezed-in tomato. Only now, #1 calmed down and began to realize the consequences of her actions. She smelled like a toilet and her steel hurt everywhere. Slaves weren't showered that often in here. She quickly picked up the feeding hose, shuffled over to her left, and plunged it into the next waiting gag hole. "What you looking at!?" she shouted at #58. The inmate's eyes swelled up as the gruel disappeared down her stomach. When the trough's pump ran, they always turned very quiet. #1 rammed the nozzle in another and another gag, storming along the waiting stations of immobilized inmates. Her body only slowly dried. The initial stickiness turned to a brown, stinky crust and she realized, tonight in their cage, she'd get an earful. Some (or many) might not know it yet but at the end of their sentence freedom does not await rehabilitated inmates of a walled prison. After years of encasement, they get dismounted and shipped to highly specialized forniphilia manufacturers and shops. With limbs stiff and useless from prison, and depending on their luck, they'll be turned into something useful again, anything from an immobile toy statue to public toilet appliances to bootlicking stations in the floor, through irreversible body modifications. They don't ever trust serious offenders again and they don't have to. These slaves had served their purpose before, now they will serve with their bodies. The freed-from-prison slaves will only realize that once it's already too late and their bodies will decorate someone's living room, bedroom, or toilet. If there is a surplus of these 'fully rehabilitated' slaves, milk and fertilizer farms are always happy to buy them in bulk. In the Empire, there were no more expectations of slaves in the rank 10-15 bracket, only slave occupations that require neither limbs nor participation. They have become empty, inanimate hulls that served a new-found purpose. The two sloppy (and slutty) feeder slaves had certainly received a hard caning later that night as a warm-up for their digressions. They only had the comfort of each other after, while their hairless and chained bodies had to endure its lingering stench for days. Unfortunately for the two horny procrastinators, punishments were taken rather seriously within the prison walls. Both came off lightly, received no additional months to their sentence, and instead received only two days in an inmate's station, with full rectal complement. And three scheduled canings the next day. It had certainly bettered them in the end, even though the broken skin on their buttocks, thighs, and soles burned for another good, long week. They had to work again as usual between the rows and it was fair to say that both girls walked a little funny after. Their eight months of forced labor as feeders were eventually over and they could be again returned to their owners as upright and proper domestic slaves. Everything was forgiven. Happy end for everyone! The male fuckpig, on the other hand, had to serve another three full years before it was dismounted from its wall. Its rectal fucking hadn't stopped for one day, and due to #1's careless actions, his tube had eventually grown too large even for him (an expected shrinkage due to a lack of male hormones). Once a month, inmates received injections to keep them healthy during their long stay. Fuckpig simply received the right kinds of hormones now and had to watch in horror as his chest grew, slowly turning into a slave girl. As a male, he would've fetched a good price. Now, he was a cheap eunuch. They had transported him/her to a renowned forniphilia shop in the capital where he was ultimately turned into a piece of very useful, leather-clad furniture to spice up a fancy Mistress' office. THE END