Saturday, July 16, 2016

Fiction: fs01 - Part 42


Author's note: 
This takes place the day after Part 41

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XLII

Day 04

I don’t know if I have slept.  I hurt all over, inside and out.  Pain is the only reminder that I even exist.  Empty.  Alone.  I retreat to nothingness to prevent my heart from unraveling.  The darkness seems fitting.  I have no thoughts except for the audio loop playing back into my ears. 

An image of Mistress’s smiling face flashes in my head.  I respond with tears and longing. 

Breakfast arrives but I do not eat.  At headcount I do not move, they drag me out of my cage and force me to my feet.  I slump limp in their arms.  A series of hard smacks to my buttocks and a series of threats get me to stand on my own power.  I don’t care; I just want to fade away.

Today I begin stage 2 of rehabilitation.  They lead me by the transport collar to the interview room.  Dominique’s pillory sits in the middle of the room.  I learn that I still have feelings and they managed to sink even lower.  My wrists, neck, and ankles get locked into place.  I face the far wall.

The door closes and I hear footsteps approach.  The scent of perfume tells me it is Lauren.  My body stiffens and I shut my eyes tight.  The ache in my heart pulls to the surface.  The building anxiety makes my body shake.  I open my eyes as she unlocks and removes my gag.  Her masked face sits directly in front of mine; I feel her inspecting me.  My nostrils flare as my breaths heave through my nose. 

“I still see some signs of life in those eyes.  We haven’t totally broken you… yet.”
I cringe and whimper as a rush of agony penetrates my brain.  No one will save me.  I am alone.

She makes her way behind me and yanks down my tights.  To my surprise I feel her turn the key to my chastity belt.  The front plate slides off freeing my sex from its metal prison.  It twitches in its newfound freedom. 

“Wow, I can see why she keeps that thing locked up.  I don’t consider myself a size Queen or anything, but a woman should have standards.”

My face flushes red as a wave of shame hits me.  I feel my penis come to life under the sting of humiliation.  My brain naturally resists for a moment, excuses spin through my head.  It’s cold.  It’s always shriveled up like that after being locked up for so long.  This is an embarrassment I am not accustomed to.  It dawns on me that her triggering my self-consciousness restored my sense of self.  I can no longer hide in nothingness. 

The audio loop in my headset stops abruptly.  I feel Lauren’s hands lift the back of the uniform’s dress and tuck it into my belt leaving my rear fully exposed. 

“Inmate, upon completing stage 1 of your rehabilitation, you have earned the privilege of entering stage 2.  In this stage we will train your body and mind to react appropriately so that you can become a productive member of society.”

She dims the lights and I hear the hum of the projector as it powers up.  An image appears on the wall.

“Inmate, describe what you see.”
“A man and a woman.”

Smack.  The strap bites against my skin.  I wince on impact. 
“Be more specific.”
“A man holding a woman down.”
Smack.  I let out a small grunt.
“What else?”
“He’s hurting her.”
Smack.
“Tell me more.”
“He’s over-powering her.”
Smack.

“Why?”
“He wants to have sex with her.”
Smack.

“Does she want this?”
“No.”
Smack.

“What will he do to her?”
“He’s going to rape her.”
Smack.  

Lauren pauses and forces her hand between my legs.  I feel a sharp pinch on my penis.  I shriek in pain as the clip crushes and crimps the skin.  Tears fill my eyes.  My body shakes against the wooden frame.  The pain throbs and spikes, clouding my brain.

“Do you like this image?”
“No!”
Smack.

“Why don’t you like it?”
“A man shouldn’t hurt a woman!”
Smack.

She pauses again and attaches a second clip.  I throw my head back and wail as tears soak my mask. 

“Is this good or bad?”
“It’s bad!”
Smack.

“Why is it bad?”
“A man shouldn’t hurt a woman!”
Smack.

Another clip keeps me bawling as I thrash against the restraints. 

“Tell me again.”
“A man shouldn’t hurt a woman!”
Smack.

“Do you want this to stop?”
“Yes, please stop it!”
Smack.

“If you even think about hurting another woman this is what awaits you.”

Smack.  I cry out and shake.  Smack. Smack. Smack.  I sob and bawl.  Smack. 

The blows finally stop.  My body quivers and twitches from the pain of the clips.  She releases them one by one.  I cry out again and fall limp, held up by the stocks. 

“You’re lucky, inmate.  These were supposed to be electric shocks delivered to your penis and scrotum.  We ended up going with something a little more primitive.”

My chest heaves as I catch my breath.  I’m given several minutes to rest.

The image on the wall changes. 

“Inmate, tell me what you see?”
“A man kneeling and bowing before a woman.”
“What is he doing?”
“He’s worshipping her.”

I feel one of her hands caress the bare skin on my rear as it still throbs from the strap’s blows.  Her other hand lightly massages my tender cock.  It flicks to life under her touch and rises as she takes it in her hand. 

“Why is he worshipping her?”
“Because he loves her, he adores her.”
Her hands continue moving, they are gentle and they feel good.

“What does he want?”
“He wants to make her happy.  He wants to love her.”
“Does he deserve her?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because he is inferior.”

She continues to massage my tender parts.  I moan as she moves farther up my penis.  I will dribble soon.

“So the inferior man should worship and love the woman?”
“Yes.”

I gyrate my hips as she continues to stroke it.  My head spins with arousal.  Her hands abruptly stop.  I let out a whimper and try to hump the air.  A quick slap to my cock makes me squeal and it falls limp in its response.  The sting stops my desperation in its tracks. 

A new image flashes on the wall.

“Inmate, tell me what you see?”
“A man scaring a woman.”
Smack. 

“What else?”
“He’s threatening her… she’s terrified.”
Smack.

She reaches between my legs and attaches a clip at the base of the head.  I shriek and flail against the restraints.  Smack.

“Do you like this image?”
“No!”
Smack.  She adds a clip to my scrotum.  I howl in pain. 

“Why don’t you like it?”
“A man shouldn’t threaten a woman!”
Smack.  Another clip bites into the tender skin on my scrotum.  My scream is long and horrific. Tears flow freely from my red eyes.

“Is this good or bad?”
“Bad!”
Smack. 

“Why is it bad?”
“A man shouldn’t hurt or scare a woman!”
Smack, Smack, Smack, Smack, Smack. 

I recoil under every blow, my brain spikes with pain that leaves me dizzy.  I gasp for air.  Sweat beads on my skin. 

“If men didn’t hurt women, you wouldn’t be suffering like this, inmate.”

I thrash in pain, struggling anywhere I can move.  Lauren slowly removes the clips while I sob o myself.

A new image appears.

“Inmate, describe what you see.”
“A woman sitting on a man’s face.”
She gently rubs my swollen buttocks, soothing its tender skin.  She teases my cock and it springs to attention.

“What is he doing?”
“He’s pleasuring her, submitting to her will.”
Her hand grips my cock and begins to stroke.  I let out a low moan even though I still haven’t recovered from the pain. 

“What does he want?”
“He wants her to orgasm.  He wants her to experience pleasure and joy.  He loves her.”
Her hand moves faster as I pump it into her hand with as much strength as I can muster. 

“When a man submits, he gets rewarded, inmate.”
I pound and pound as the stimulation builds.  She tightens her grip and I moan. 

“When a man submits he gets rewarded.”
I feel my muscles tighten.  My mouth opens as my lungs heave for air.  Her hand stops.  I feel it dribble.  She slaps my cock hard and it drops limp between my legs.

After 4 images Lauren gives me a break while she departs without a word.   It is painfully obvious what is going on; the goal is to create associations.  I just want this to stop.  I want to go home.  I want to be with Mistress. 

Tabitha replaces Lauren in the conditioning process. She continues the cycle of alternating pain and pleasure. 
The torture continues with another “pain” image; another woman being terrorized by a man.  Tabitha drives this lesson home with more strokes of the strap and adds a fourth clip to the others on my penis and scrotum.  She guides me to describe to her what is wrong with the picture.  I scream, wail, and cry in agony.  I am helpless; no one will save me.

What follows is another “pleasure” image displaying a man submitting to a woman or being helpless before her.  While I describe what is right with the picture Tabitha performs gentle aftercare and strokes my penis.  My body and brain run wild with confusion.  The back and forth extremes slowly wear me down. 

By the time she concludes the 4th and final image I am a quivering mess dangling from my bonds.  Mistress, where are you?  Please take me away.

END ACT

2 comments:

  1. That's a strange sort of conditioning exercise, fur. Since fiction fur already gets pleasure from subjugating himself to the needs and/or desires of females, it's hard to see the point of the "pleasure" part of the process. As for the "pain" part, did fiction fur ever actually have any desire to abuse females in the first place? I'm afraid I'm not getting this one, unless it's just to point out the unremitting and somewhat senseless level of cruelty of the "girls". Feel free to enlighten me:)

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    Replies
    1. Thank you, Lady Grey.

      This was all part of the 3 stage rehabilitation process of their graduate thesis project. Stage 1. Break them. Stage 2. Condition them. Stage 3. Train them. Just because fs doesn't need it doesn't stop them from doing it :)

      I hope that makes more sense.

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