Monday, July 4, 2016

Fiction: fs01 - Part 36


Author’s Note:  This takes place several weeks after Part 35.

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XXXVI

I stand naked and shivering in the dungeon.  My legs are spread, my hands behind my head.  Four women stand before me.  Masks and goggles similar to the ones used in paintball cover their faces.   They wear long leather coats trimmed in fur at the collar and cuffs.  Fur hats.  Knee high leather boots.  They look like they belong in a movie portraying Soviet-era Russian military.  My eyes drift to their belts.  My breathing becomes heavy with fear.  Handcuffs.  A leather strap.  Pepper spray.  A flashlight.  A baton. 

This feels too real to be a game.  My fingers fidget.  I am exposed and vulnerable.  I blush in shame.  I can tell them apart by their heights and hair.  The uniform fits Mistress beautifully.  My eyes find her.  The mirrored finish on her goggles hides her eyes from me.  My sex strains against the belt. 

She nods her head to the right.  Another guard steps forward.  It must be Tabitha.  The voice confirms it.

She tosses a bundle at my feet.

“Inmate, get ready for transport.”

I nod and open the bundle.  A neon pink jumpsuit with “D.O.C.” stenciled on the back along with a pair of canvas slip-on shoes.  I quickly dress in front of them.  Even as a prisoner I’m forced to wear pink.

Tabitha and Lauren approach me.  They feed a belly-chain around my waist and lock it in place.  Tabitha secures the leg irons while Lauren secures my wrists with handcuffs.  Full prisoner transport shackles.  They lock them tight.  It hurts.  This isn’t a game to them.  I throw a concerned glance at Mistress.  She doesn’t react.

Hands from behind pull a black bag over my head, covering my face and eyes.  I feel it cinch at the waist.  Ear mufflers over the top.  I start to shake, remembering my previous experiences with Renee.  I’m freed from that moment by firm grips on my arms.  They drag me forwards.  I stumble to keep up.  The ankle cuffs dig into my muscles with each step. 

They drag me along with force.  Up the stairs.  Across the rooms.  Voices are muffled.  I see only glimmers of light through the fabric of the bag.  The lights get brighter.  I feel the cold bite of the wind through the cotton suit.  Snow in my shoes.  It’s freezing.  I play along.  This is what Mistress expects of me.  This is what will make her happy. 

Up a step.  I’m forced into a seat.  Straps cross over my chest.  On the ride I remind myself this is just for a university project.  This isn’t real.  Stay calm.  Make Mistress proud.  My seat thumps.  The ride gets bumpy.  I breathe slowly and keep my eyes closed. 

The vehicle lurches to a halt.  I feel the straps release.  Hands grip my arms again.  I’m dragged down a step.  My feet land in some deep snow.  It easily penetrates the pant leg and its cold covers my ankles and feet.  A gust of wind makes me shiver. 

They drag me along.  The ground under my feet changes from snow to a hard, flat surface.  They remove the ear mufflers and bag.  My eyes squint as they adjust to the light.  I’m in plain and drab building with a concrete floor.  There’s no wind but it’s still freezing. 

Mistress grabs my arm again.  Her fingers dig into the muscle and find a pressure point.  I wince.

“A new inmate for processing.”  She speaks calmly, without emotion.
“Strip search him,” replies Tabitha.

Mistress and the final guard, who must be Dominique, release my shackles.  The rush of blood to my hands and feet tingles.  They unzip my jump suit and drag me out of it. 

“He’s resisting,” says Mistress.  In an instant she bars my arm, a blow to the knee makes it buckle and she puts me face down on the ground.  The concrete is freezing on my bare chest.  She digs her knee into my back and pins my arm behind me.  A rain of straps follows.  Over and over they land on my back, buttocks, arms, and legs. 

I scream and thrash about.  Tears soon fill my eyes.  My body falls limp.  The blows stop. 

“We’ll do this the hard way.”

Mistress and Dominique force me to my feet.  They lead me to a table and force me face down.  My wrists are secured by a pair of shackles on the far end.  The tears continue.  This isn’t real. 

“Body cavity search time!”   It’s definitely Dominique.  She sounds excited.  I hear the snap of a rubber glove.  A squishing sound.  I pull my legs together.  I feel a hand grip the back of my neck, pinning my face to the table.  A boot forces its way between my feet.  It shoves my right foot out to the side.  Another boot repeats that with the same. 

I sob. 

“Please don’t do this.  I don’t have anything.  Please don’t do this.”

The hand tightens on my neck.
“Shut up, inmate.  Speak again and you’ll get the strap.”

My body tenses.  My muscles twitch.  I feel a pair of lubed fingers slide their way between my cheeks.  I whimper.  Please don’t do this. 

They violate me.  I bawl.  The fingers move around, inspecting my insides.  My body slumps in defeat.  This isn’t a game.  I am a prisoner. 

“He’s clean.”  The fingers leave my body.

A guard sits at the head of the table.  It’s Tabitha.

“Inmate, you have been sent to this prison to complete your rehabilitation.  The length of your sentence is determined by your ability to change yourself into someone that can contribute positively to society.  Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”  My response is feeble and weak.

“From now on, you are prisoner number zero-zero-one.  You do not have a name.  Names are granted to those who deserve them.  You are merely a number until you have earned the right to a name upon your release.  Your file says you have pled guilty to sexual assault and indecent exposure.  Is this true?”
“No, ma’am.”

SMACK.  A strap bites into the frozen skin on my rear.  I yelp.  They tell me who I am. 
“Is this true?”
“Yes, ma’am.  It is true.”
“Good, inmate.  Admitting your crime is the first step.  I’m sure you have a long list of crimes against women.  Confess and we can start your rehabilitation.”
“I have nothing to confess, ma’am.”

SMACK.  SMACK.  I wail and sob. 
“Confess.”
“I’ve committed crimes against women, ma’am.  I lust for them.  I see them as prey.  I treat them as inferiors.”  I lie out of necessity. 
“Inmate, by the end of your rehabilitation, I can promise you that you will see women in a new light.  Get him into uniform and take him to his cell.”

The hand releases its grip on my neck.  The shackles are unlocked from my wrists.  The skin on my back, arms, legs, and buttocks burns.  I can feel my heart pulse in them.  There will be bruises soon.  A bundle lands on the table in front of me.  I open it and find my uniform.  My heart sinks even more.  It too is pink.  I unfold the uniform.  If its design was meant to demoralize me it has succeeded. 

I reluctantly pull the pink dress over my head.  It’s almost identical to my maid’s uniform with fur at the collar, cuffs, and hem.  There’s a startling difference.  The prison uniform is made of thin cotton.  It is rough and scratchy.  A hand zips the back up for me.  I rub my arms for warmth.  A pair of cotton tights.  Thin mittens.  Pink moon boots.  I finish dressing and present my finished self to the guards.  My face burns red.   Lauren secures a gag in my mouth.  She buckles it behind my head and locks it in place.  The gag has an air hole in its center.  She then pulls a pink spandex mask over my head.  It has eyeholes and a small hole to leave the gag’s air hole unblocked.  I feel a pom pom dance back and forth on top of the mask as I move. 

I feel a belt cinch tightly around my waist.  It buckles behind me.  A lock clicks.

Lauren stands directly in front of me.

“Inmate 001, this is your prison uniform.  You will be inspected several times a day.  Your uniform will remain in place and in presentable condition.  Any uniform violations will increase the length of time before your first parole hearing.  Your current parole hearing is scheduled for 7 days from now.”

I hang my head.  This isn’t a game.  I feel leg irons click shut around my ankles.  The boots provide enough padding to keep them from hurting. 

“Hands behind your back.” 

I turn and do as I am instructed.  Her hand grips my wrist and turns it palm out.  I feel the handcuff close around my wrist.  She repeats with the other hand.  A tug on the chain. 

“Escort the prisoner to his cell.” 

Hands grip my arms.  I keep my head down.  Is this what you wanted, Mistress? 

They direct me to the back of the building.  Along the rear wall stand a row of stacked cages.  I approach the left side of the row.  Mistress opens the latch and swings the door open. 

“Welcome to your new home, inmate.”

I drop to my knees and shuffle into the cage.  The door closes behind me.  A lock clicks.  I turn to the bars.  I can smell Mistress’s sex.  I want to touch her.  Without a glance she turns and walks away, Dominique beside her.  When they are across the room I see them getting friendly.  Talking, giving each other playful shoves.  I feel sad and alone now.

I slump down in the cage.  I hate being restrained with my hands behind me.  It’s uncomfortable.  The inside of the cage is small.  It’s too short to stand.  It’s not deep enough to lie down.  It’s too narrow to turn easily.  Solid metal surrounds me on 5 sides.  The barred front door is the only opening.  I lie on the ground and curl up into a ball, a feeble attempt to huddle for warmth.  I close my eyes.

A clink of metal startles me.  I open my eyes. 

“Feeding time, inmate.” 

I rise in the cage and struggle to turn.  I shuffle toward the bars.  A bottle clamps to the bars.  A bent metal tube at the bottom acts as a sort of straw.  It’s a larger version of the water feeders we had for our pet gerbils when I was a child.  I glance around, wondering how I’m supposed to eat.  The guard is already across the room. 

I let out a sigh.  I press my face to the bars.  Line the metal tube up with the air hole on the gag.  It takes a few tries to insert it.  Finally secure, I suck.  Liquid slowly enters my mouth through the hole in the gag.  It tastes awful.  I’m starving and dehydrated and I know better than to complain.  I choke down the foul and perverse liquid meal sip by sip, gulp by gulp.  The rumbling in my belly slowly ceases.  I empty the bottle and slump back into the cage.  I close my eyes.

A bang of metal on metal makes me jump.  My eyes fly open. 

“Head count!”  The latch on the cage door clangs and the door swings open.  I shuffle my way out of the cage.  I struggle to my feet.  Lauren stands before me with a clipboard. 

“001 present and accounted for.  Get back in your cell, inmate.”

I again drop to my knees.  I shuffle my way back.  A foot shoves my backside forward.  I topple onto my face, my cheek bears the brunt of the impact. 

“I haven’t got all day, hurry up, inmate.”

I pull my legs in.  The cage door clangs shut.  The latch bangs.  The lock clicks.  I slump against the cage floor.  My wrists hurt.  This isn’t a game.  I miss you, Mistress.  I close my eyes.

Time passes.  I lay motionless.  A voice shouts.

“Lights out!” 

I open my eyes in time to see the ceiling light near the cages turn off.  It’s dark.  I’m cold and lonely.  This isn’t a game.  I close my eyes.  I repeat a mantra in my head: This will all be over soon.  I doze off.

I jerk awake.  Metal on metal.  I shift my body in the cage.  Light blinds my eyes.  A guard with a flashlight.  She drags the end against the bars.  The lock clicks.  The latch clangs.  The cage door swings open.  I shake the cobwebs from my head, rise to my knees, and shuffle my way out.    The light continues to blind me. 

Her hand pulls up my mask.  She fidgets with the gag strap.  I feel the buckle release.  She pulls the gag from my mouth.  I can smell her.  It’s Mistress.  My heart jumps. 

“Mistress, I love you.”
“Silence, inmate!”

Smack.  Her hand meets me squarely on the cheek.  It stings.  Tears fill my eyes.  Her mirrored goggles hide her eyes.  I lower my head. 

“Don’t you dare get familiar with me, inmate, or I will beat you.”

Smack.  She slaps me again, even harder. 

“You’re the fresh meat here.  We played rock, paper, scissors to see who would get to use you first, and I won.” 

I mentally retreat.  I feel small and helpless.  Endure.  She unbuckles her belt.  It falls to the ground around her with a clank.  Her coat opens.  Her hands slide down her body to the waist of the leather pants.  She unsnaps a frontal codpiece from the crotch and drops it on the floor.

I fight back a grin.  The design is what I would have expected from Mistress.  Her sex glistens in the light.  She’s wet.  Her palm extends on the top of my head and holds it in place.  Her boot lightly taps the front of my chastity belt.  My breathing grows heavy. 

I whimper a low moan.  SMACK.  Her hand meets my cheek.  I cringe and shut my eyes tight.  She hisses.

“Criminals don’t deserve to enjoy this.  Pleasure me well or I will have no issue with hurting you.”

She pulls my face into her sex.  Her other hand grips my neck and presses firmly on my throat.  I gasp for air.  Her scent fills my nose.  I’m not a person.  I’m her masturbation toy.  My lips kiss her erect clit.  I want to love her but she frightens me.  My body takes over, the years of conditioning and training shining through.  I lick my lips and press them around her clit.  My tongue flattens and massages it.  Her juices soak into the fabric of the mask.  She is all I can smell.

She pulls my head tighter.  I swirl my tongue over her.  Back and forth, up and down.  Small circles.  She rocks her pelvis and meets me.  I continue to lick.  My lips form a suction.  She moans.  She grinds into my face.  I press my tongue harder and increase its pace.  I feel her juices flowing.  I press firmer and find the sweet spot.  She lets out a pleasure cry.  Her hand pulls my head harder.  Her thumb presses firmly on my throat. 

My breaths heave through my nose.  In and out.  The hot air flows from my nose in pulses.  I know she can feel me.  My tongue and lips continue their work.  She grinds onto me harder.  I feel her thighs flex.  She moans again, louder.  My tongue flicks and slides across her.  She is close.

Her hand slides down the back of my head.  It mirrors the other.  I feel both of her thumbs over my throat.  I tremble.  I take a deep breath and continue to lick.  Her thumbs press tighter.  The air passage closes.  I feel the blood throb in my face.  My body reacts in panic.  Her fingers tighten at the back of my neck and press my head tightly against her.  My mouth opens and my tongue stops moving.  Panic.  My head shakes violently.  My face rubs back and forth over her sex.  She moans and loosens her thumbs. 

I heave a deep breath.  My throat swallows, shaking away the unfamiliar sensation.  She lets out a deep laugh.  Her hand pulls my head, burying my face in her sex.  Her hips press her firmly against my lips.  I work faster.  My tongue finds the sweet spot.  Her voice pulses in a series of cries and moans. 

Her hands slide down.  Her thumbs again find my throat.  I let out a small whimper.  They press down.  My head fights against her grip.  She pulls me tighter.  My eyes feel like they are bulging.  My face pulses.  My head shakes rapidly.  My lips and nose spasm against her crotch.  I feel her clit rubbing against my quivering face.  She digs her fingers in tighter.  She cries out.  Her juices soak my face. 

She shoves me to my back, releasing her grip on my throat.  I topple over hard, gasping for air.  Coughing.  Choking.  I swallow repeatedly.  My breathing calms.  I slowly regain my composure.  I can still feel where her thumbs pressed my throat. 

Her boots click against the floor as she gets closer.

“On your stomach, inmate!”

I turn over onto my stomach.  I want to cry out to her.  Mistress, you are hurting me.  Mistress, you are scaring me.  Mistress, I love you. 

She digs her knee into my back.  I grunt.  The gag presses against my lips.  I part them and it fills my mouth.  The buckle pulls tight, digging the straps into my cheeks.  The lock clicks.  She pulls the mask down over my face.  It’s soaked with her fluids.  Her scent dominates my senses. 

She presses her hand on the back of my head. 
“The other ladies are going to be so disappointed at your pathetic oral abilities, inmate.  I’m sure they won’t even bother trying and they will go straight for that ass.  They were a bit worried our ‘past experiences’ might cause me to go easier on you out of sympathy.”

She grabs the handcuff chain and pulls my arms up.  Click, click, click.  Click, click, click.  She tightens each cuff, removing any amount of play in them.

“Let’s just say it has the opposite effect.  To think that someone I once cared about is now a convicted criminal and sex offender.  I’m mortified that I knew you and I hope you suffer like the piece of shit that you are.”

She dismounts my back.  I whimper and sob on the ground.

“Get back in your cell, inmate.” 

I rise with difficulty and begin to shuffle to my cage.  Smack.  A leather strip lands on my back.  I move as fast as I can.  I fall into the cage onto my chest.  She shoves my legs with her boot.  The door swings shut with a clang.  The latch closes.  The lock clicks.  The light vanishes behind me.  I lay alone in the dark.  I cry.

END ACT

2 comments:

  1. Well, fur, you've certainly got it in for slave fur. Is there no end to the cruelty he's forced to endure? Cass has certainly let her demonic side loose. Is this prison fantasy something that you've had simmering for a long while, or is this new territory being made up as you write?

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    Replies
    1. Thank you, Lady Grey.

      The prison fantasy is an idea I have had going for quite a while. It was the original idea I was debating writing about from the start, actually. I am glad I chose to go with something else out of the gate. After brainstorming ideas for Arc 6 I just couldnt come up with something I was happy with writing until I found a way to work this one in... and it seemed like fs was finally at a place mentally where this wouldn't completely destroy him.

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