The FSRA

Day One

The rumors had been running around the men's prison for some time now. Most were false, some true. I was going to find out.

The congress, in an attempt to deal with the massive overcrowding in the various prisons across the country, had taken a rather bold step. Rather than expend more money and build more prisons, or simply release prisoners early, they were going to allow prisoners the option of converting their sentence. The idea was based on an age old principle - there was more than one way to pay your debt to society. Fines could be levied, prison time served. Congress simply introduced an alternative, which could be used instead of prison time.

The Fair Sentence Reduction Act (FSRA) allowed for alternative punishments for criminal behavior, which had been accepted and widely used throughout history, but had temporarily been suspended. These punishments would be reintroduced on an optional basis. Each prisoner was allowed to choose their form of punishment. The alternative punishment was one that had been around a long, long time.

Torture.

Purely voluntary, of course. No prisoner would be required to undergo any unpleasant treatment; they could serve out their term, just as originally sentenced. But... if they wished to shorten their sentence and get out a little faster, they could.

The terms were simple, as they were explained to us in one of several meetings held in the large rec hall in D Block. One hour of torture would take one week off your sentence. Suffer for 8 hours, you could cut two months off. Submit for two weeks, you might take as much as a year off your sentence.

Those numbers didn't quite add up, and they had to explain that no one would be asked, or would be allowed, to undergo torture continuously for two weeks. That would not be healthy, and they had no wish to do permanent damage to either body or mind. Specific periods of time for recovery were mandated by the government standards. There were humanitarian rules to be followed.

Yes... humanitarian rules for the torture of inmates. Sounds like an oxymoron, and as I discovered, it is. But at the time, it seemed to make sense. I had already taken a lot of pain in the year I had spent in Chino, between getting beaten by guards and by inmates. I had several scars to prove it, thought they didn't really mean anything to anyone. No one cared what happened to scum like me, and just living in Chino was torture as far as I was concerned.

So when it came time, I was one of a handful that volunteered. The program had been in place for a couple of months, the inmates that had volunteered before me were segregated for their "health". That seemed fine to me as well.

The legal documents I was presented were thick, maybe about 20 pages. I asked several times... one hour for one week, right? No one can go back on that, right? I was assured that it was a rock solid deal. So I signed.

I was in for four years, and had three years left. I figured I would start out with a round that would cut six months off my sentence. Four days of pain administered in a sanitary, compassionate manner by a skilled practitioner and constantly monitored for health problems. They made it sound like a medical procedure.

There was a queue in front of me. Apparently, even though relatively few were trusting enough to volunteer, there were not enough "qualified practitioners" or "operators" to safely perform the "procedures". But my time came soon enough, and I found myself in my nice clean orange jump suit, wrists shackled to a waist chain, hobbled by short ankle chains, walking down the hall to A Block, where the segregated prisoners and torture took place. I was nervous, sure, but also eager to get it over with. If it worked out, I figured I might go for more, and get out of this hellhole in a few weeks instead of three years.

The final document signing was quick and to the point. Before being led away, I was given an injection. I asked what it was, and was told it would help me withstand the procedures. I wasn't sure I liked the sound of that, but whatever it was, was already floating around inside my body.

I was led in to a room by two guards, unshackled, and told to undress. I hesitated for a moment, looking around the room. It was concrete, but with linoleum from about waist high on the walls down and across the entire floor. The floor was slightly sloped to a drain in the center of the room. There was a table on the side covered with a number of unusual and inexplicable instruments. There were metal hooks, eyelets, pulleys and the like on the walls and ceiling, and several large metal items that I could not understand and didn't have time to look at. Some electronic equipment that looked like medical monitoring gear or something was against the far wall. The room was windowless.

I was wondering why I needed to be nude, when one of the guards took out a small rod with a prong on the end - a portable cattle prod. He shoved it in my side.

Pain exploded in my side as if I had been struck with a baseball bat. I was on the floor in less than a second, unable to move. After allowing me a minute to recover, they kicked me, and I began to undress as I had been told. When I was completely nude, the guards rolled me over, strapped my wrists behind my back, and then my elbows together. My ankles were tied, though not to each other. In fact, they were spread slightly apart.

I lay on the floor, wondering what I had gotten myself in to. Was this part of the torture? I was still panting, recovering from the cattle prod, when the guards left, and another person walked in to the room.

It was a woman. Not just any woman, but a tall woman of about 35, wearing tight black clothes that revealed an amazing girlish body. Her cute face was framed by long dark hair tied in a pony tail. She was beautiful, but in the beauty of her face was a streak of cruelty that made me shudder.

She used one booted foot to roll me over on my back. I stared up at her, and then became aware of my huge erection. I was rock hard. She smiled at me, not in a nice way, and leaned down next to me.

"Surprised? Where do you think they would go to get someone that knows how to handle, dominate and torture men? A dominatrix, of course. I'm your operator, and very, very serious about my craft." She smiled again, in a way that made me shudder and look away from her.

She kicked me over on to my stomach again, and pulled something down from the ceiling. A hook was placed under the bonds which tied my elbows together behind my back, and the soft sound of a motor accompanied the pull on my elbows up toward the ceiling. I was being lifted up on a hoist, slowly but surely, by my elbows joined behind my back. As I was pulled up to my knees and then up off the floor, the pain shot through my upper arms and shoulders. Still I was hoisted higher, and my legs began to spread wide. My ankles had been tied by ropes to brackets on either side of the room, and the higher I was raised, my legs were also pulled apart.

When my legs reached a tension point, spread wide and angled down toward the anchor points of the ropes, she stopped the hoist. The pain in my back was agonizing, and I began to wonder if I was going to make it the full four days. My breathing was labored, and I grunted slightly with the pain.

She came over, and checked my body tension by pushing on me, seeing how much I swayed. Not satisfied, she turned the hoist on again, and my elbows began to rise and pull further up behind me. I let out a cry of pain as tendons in my shoulders began doing things they were never designed to do.

Satisfied, she came over and looked me over more carefully. I was suspended slightly above her, and the angle of my elbows and shoulders forced me to look down at her. She really was beautiful, which I noticed even with the pain shooting through my shoulders. Her long hair was smooth and silky, and I couldn't help but imagine how it would appear out of its pony tail and flowing over her shoulders. Her lips were full without being overly puffy, and looked slightly wet. Her eyes were a dark blue, a striking contrast to her brown hair and light smooth skin. Perfect breasts were outlined by her tight T top.

She knew exactly how she appeared to me, and exactly how she was making me suffer. My erection, now very obvious with my legs spread wide, was both an embarrassment and puzzle to me. I was in enough pain to make me cry out and moan, and yet my cock was rock hard.

Slowly, she examined me, probing every part of me from my feet, knees, genitalia, ass, back, front, and finally all the orifices of my head.

"My, my... you are a fine specimen, aren't you? I think you are enjoying this a little. Well, we will make sure to take care of you, but for now, we have some preparations." She spoke sweetly, her tone slow and quiet, almost as if she liked me as a friend. All I had to do was feel the massive cramping in my shoulders to be reminded she was not my friend.

She went over to a table on the side of the room, and picked up a strange device, some sort of round ring with straps dangling down. I had no idea what it was. On her return, she casually reached up and pushed my body, causing me to sway and my arms to be stretched further behind me. I let out a scream from the sudden pain, and before the scream was over the metal ring was in my mouth and she was buckling the leather straps behind my head.

My first introduction to a ring gag.

Drool immediately began dripping from my down turned face. My jaw hurt from being stretched wide, though it was nothing compared to the pain in my shoulders. I concentrated on staying as still as I could, as any movement just caused worse pain.

She was working elsewhere in the room, out of my sight. I felt something cold and slimy covering the outside of my ass, and then penetrating inside. Her finger, covered with a rubber exam glove. Jelly lube, applied mercifully to my ass. And then something longer, wider, was inserted and began to penetrate deeper. The farther it went, the wider my ass was distended, until it felt it would tear open. Suddenly, the object became thinner and lodged itself securely inside my bowels, fixed in place at my ass. A plug, deep inside me. No longer painful, but the feeling of fullness was more than I had ever experienced. It was like the worst constipation possible.

I hung there, waiting, making low grunting noises. She continued to fumble behind me. I caught a whiff of something that smelled nice from her, perhaps shampoo or even deodorant. My erection continued, rock hard.

Something was hung on a hook behind me. Suddenly, I felt liquid flushing in to my bowels. Slowly, but steadily, whatever was in my ass allowed this liquid to enter, but not exit, my body. At first the sensation of the enema was strange but not painful. It then became uncomfortable as the amount increased and I felt bloated. The fluid continued to fill me, rising higher, until it began to cramp.

Whatever was pushing the fluid in, it was more than gravity from a bag. I remembered seeing some hoses of various types when I first entered the room. My position at the moment was too painful and twisted to look around, but I was sure that this fluid was under pressure, and the increasing pressure in my abdomen was becoming agonizing. The pain in my chest was keeping me from really screaming, but my grunts and whimpers were becoming urgent. I could actually see my body increasing in size, distending as the fluid filled me slowly but surely.

The agony in my belly reached a point where it was worse than the pain of my weight hanging on my twisted shoulders. The flow of fluid stopped, and the hose was detached from my anal plug. I hung in the room, suffering, crying, moaning and whimpering... she walked around and sat in front of me for a while, just watching my face.

The pain in my stomach was too much to take after a while. I became nauseous, the pressure on my stomach and ribs becoming too much for me to take. I vomited, spewing over the floor and myself. The retching continued because with each heave the muscles in my stomach contracted, causing waves of pain in my distended lower abdomen. I jerked and writhed on my hook, tears flowing freely, every bit of my body in pain from my neck, back, chest, stomach, and bowels. I begged through the ring gag, making unintelligible noises.

The retching finally stopped, and I noticed two things. My erection was still as hard as ever, and my torturer, my operator, had unzipped her pants and was slowly masturbating with one hand as she looked at my pain wracked body. For the first time, real mental pain overcame me in addition to the muscular and internal pain I experienced. She was truly getting off on seeing me so sick with agony that I was vomiting, crying, grunting, and pleading.

Her hand continued moving, and I looked down at my own erection, and felt arousal that contradicted the pain in the rest of my body. I could imagine my cock entering this beautiful woman, wanted, dreamed of this at the same time as I was hung in front of her and she stimulated herself by the sight and sound of me as well as her own hand.

Her head tilted back as her back arched. Her eyes continued to look at me though slits as her breathing quickened. Her legs spread wide; hand plunged deep, and took on a frantic motion. A sudden expulsion of breath from her announced her climax, as she gasped, exhaled, gasped, continued her hand motion, plunging deep. Seeing her do this in front of me made me feel as if I could almost come myself, if she would have just touched me, slightly, in the right place.

Finally, her orgasm subsided and her body relaxed in place. She propped one foot up on a table, her legs spread wide, and lazily pulled her hand out of her pants. Fingers glistened with moisture as she brought them to her lips, smelled, and then licked the taste of herself. My agony overwhelmed me and I yelled in pain, frustration, and humiliation.

Pulling her pants back up and zipping them, she rose and walked over to me.

"You seem to enjoy being up here quite a bit," she smiled and placed her hand gently on my erection. "I like for my subjects to get in to the whole ordeal as fully as possible."

She walked over to a table, and took a small tube. It was lube, and she spread it on my penis. Sliding her hand expertly up and down, she manipulated it. Over, down... under and back up in smooth motions. Sliding over the head, and then using thumbs underneath. It took almost no time before I exploded, jerking as I ejaculated and spurted out over the floor. The jerking renewed my cries, not just from pleasure but from pain as the tension on my shoulders was increased.

"Let's wash that disgusting mess away, shall we?" she sighed, as if disappointed in me.

She reached behind me, and pulled on the plug, firmly, as it was quite large and my sphincter muscles were not used to expanding that far. Finally, with a painful yank, it came out, and the contents of my bowels spurted out. The spurting kept going, cramps renewing during the process, but the relief was so great I almost orgasmed again from delight. The dirty liquid splashed on the floor, mixed with my semen and vomit and washed it toward the drain. After what seemed like an eternity, it was over, and I was simply hanging there, back and shoulders and chest now burning from being stretched and twisted.

My operator went to another hose protruding from the wall, and pulled it out. She turned on the water, and washed the filth of my bowels down the drain, cleaning the floor. She then turned the water on me and washed my body off thoroughly.

The agony in my bowels did not subside, but my shoulders and back continued to cramp and stretch. My arms were numb, except for a dull and insistent ache. My jaw hurt as well, from the ring holding it wide open for so long. I had cried, screamed, begged for mercy, all through this gag, all unintelligably. My tongue was as dry as a desert, while drool flooded from my mouth and down to the floor.

My operator came over with something new. A metal pole, perhaps three feet long, with locking circular metal cuffs on each end. A leg spreader. One end was quickly attached to my right ankle, which was then released from the rope which held it stretched toward the wall. The other end was locked to my left ankle, and its rope was released. My legs now hung down, no longer stretched tightly toward the walls on either side of the room, but spread nonetheless.

My continuing erection was surreal. It was huge, and hurt, though most of the rest of my body hurt worse. I looked down at it and watched as a small strap was fastened tightly around the base of my scrotal sack. It wasn't so tight that it caused agony, but was extremely tight and distended my testicles, placing some pressure on them. She then ran a long strap to the spreader bar, looped it through a ring in the center, and then pulled.

I gasped as the testical strap yanked, and I instinctively bent my knees and raised my legs to remove the pressure. As I did so, my operator buckled the strap in place, fixing my bent legs to my testicles. I kept my knees bent to prevent any further pressure on my testicles, but it was hard. In my weakened state, I had to work hard to keep my legs bent up as they hung free and my body slowly swung back and forth on the suspension rope.

She came up to me close, rubbed her body against mine, and I could smell her scent once again. I got a close look at her face, which was cute in such a girl next door way... beautiful... she had freckles. Then she lifted the spreader bar slightly, relieving my leg muscles. She held it for a moment as she kissed my cheek gently, and then let go suddenly. My legs dropped, jerked down on my testicles hard, and I once again screamed with the pain, jerking my legs back up.

"Well... its time for my break." She said in a matter of fact way. "I am going out for some lunch. Sorry to leave you hanging, but you look like you will enjoy it. Let me leave you with a little something to help while I am gone."

She moved to the side of the room, out of view, and came back a moment later with a concrete weight. She hooked it on to the spreader bar, weighing my legs down. It became really difficult to keep them bent up.

I stared at the puddle of my saliva on the floor below my hanging head as she walked out. My legs were already beginning to cramp as the chamber door closed behind her. I was alone, swinging gently by my elbows behind my back, my legs straining to keep up to prevent the weight from tearing my testicles off my body. The weight felt like it was 50 pounds, though it was probably only 10 or 15.

The time ticked by with the only sound in the room my whimpers and grunts as I tried to cope with the pain and cramping throughout my body. Tears flowed again as I began to realize I could be here for hours, unable to prevent the terrible pain that I had signed up for and was my chosen sentence. My legs muscles experience searing pain, a terrible charlie horse developing in my right thigh. They slowly began lowering... stretching the strap... tighter... I pulled back up, but couldn't maintain it... my legs sank down again, the stretching worse this time, pulling my distended scrotum down tighter and tighter.

Suddenly I couldn't do it any more, and my legs gave way. The strap jerked hard, and my testicles felt the sudden full weight of my legs and the concrete weight on the spreader bar. I screamed again, in pain and frustration.

Pain flooded my hips and then my lower abdomen. It rapidly increased, until I had to try to lift my legs again. Straining, I was able to relieve the pressure, and the pain began shifting from my testicles to my legs. When my muscles began to give out again, I lowered my legs, accepting the pain spreading across my lower body from abused and stretched testicles.

This slow up and down motion, almost a dance, continued for what seemed like forever. Each time I raised my legs, they were weaker, each time they stayed down longer. Finally, they stayed down and I simply endured the horrible agony of having my scrotum almost torn open from the weights.

It was in this worn and exhausted condition that my operator found me upon her return. I must have hung there a couple of hours, though it felt like an eternity. I almost jumped with joy when the door opened, I was eager for anything new if she would just change the torture to something else. I couldn't stand the continual pressure on my genitalia and I was afraid my shoulders would soon be pulled from their sockets.

She seemed fresh and beautiful and I was once again reminded of my inexplicable erection in her presence. Her lithe form walked to my side.

"Did you miss me? Yes? Good. Lets see what we have planned for this afternoon." Her scent filled me once again, and I noticed her tight ass as she walked to a table on the side of the room.

Just then building pressure in my bladder let loose. The pain throughout my body had been so bad I had hardly noticed the increasing need, but when it reached a certain point I simply let it go. I peed, all over the floor. It was a small relief, followed by embarrassment that this beautiful woman would see me relieve myself in this way. She noticed, frowned, and took a hose from the wall, and washed down the floor once again.

"I guess that pretty much determines what we might do next. I think you need a little lesson in bladder control." The frown of those perfect lips sent fear through my body as nothing else in my life ever had.

The weight was removed, then the strap and scrotum harness removed. My legs dropped with tremendous relief. The pain didn't leave though, my lower body was still swathed in agony which kept me grunting, crying, and pleading in unintelligible sounds through my open gag.

A large plastic bag was produced. My operator filled it with a liquid that was clear like water, but slightly off color. A long plastic tube was connected to the bottom of the bag, and she brought it over and hung it on a hook near where I hung. She then took the tube and shoved it up my nose, pushing it in roughly and forcing it through and down my throat.

"Just swallow it, it will go easier," she advised.

I followed directions and swallowed the tube, and in a moment it was down my throat and in my stomach. She released a clip and the liquid flowed in.

At first the sensation of filling seemed just a little strange. It was cold, and made my abdomen feel cold and cramp a bit. Then my stomach felt very full, and uncomfortable. Nausea began to wave over me. The bag continued to drain into me, my stomach bloating slowly, and as it filled and stretched it hurt more and more. Finally the bag was empty. My stomach hurt, but nothing like the enema I had earlier.

I hung limply, no longer feeling my arms or shoulders. It was if they had been removed, and there was pain from the amputation but the arms, even the shoulders, weren't there any more.

My operator moved about the room, putting things away in a businesslike manner, gathering other items, doing various little tasks as I hung watching my engorged penis sticking out under my bulging stomach. It was surreal, the way she acted so calmly, with me hanging there. I felt dead, a piece of meat hanging from a hook, simply one of the inanimate objects in the room.

Finally, she returned to me, and sat on a tall stool. She stroked my hardened penis several times, making sure it was as stiff as possible, and then took a plastic tube and began inserting it inside me. She was catheterizing me. With my erection as hard as it was, the process hurt terribly. When the end finally pushed through to my bladder, she clamped off the end of the tube, preventing me from urinating.

She sat in her chair and looked at me for a while. I was suffering horribly, though the pain had given way to numbness in some places. The psychological pain of feeling that parts of my body were being permanently damaged was as bad as the original pain. Exhaustion had taken me, I was dehydrated from sweating so much, my tongue was swollen in my mouth, and my stomach bulged like I had a huge tumor inside. She was enjoying herself thoroughly.

Finally she rose and went behind me. There was the sound of another small motor, another winch like that which had raised my elbows up behind me at the beginning of the day. She fastened it to the center of the leg spreader and it began winding up behind me, slowly lifting my legs.

As the winch on my legs went up, she lowered the one on my elbows. I slowly descended, my legs passing the level of my head and my body began to go inverted. She was turning me upside down. After a couple of minutes, both hoists stopped moving and I was completely upside down, blood rushing to my head, heart pounding, and my stomach churning. There was still a huge amount of fluid in my stomach, and it felt like it was all going to come out at once. I worked hard at keeping it down and breathing normally.

It must have been about a half hour later, when I noticed my bladder was uncomfortably full. The liquid she had pumped in to my stomach had begun to run through my system faster than Beer. Being upside down for that long is horrible, the pressure in my head had built up, my eyes felt like they were going to bug out, and I had trouble breathing.

My operator came over and from my head's position I saw nothing but her feet and the end of a long, thin whip. Oh my god... I knew she was going to begin whipping me.

I had had it. Before the first lash, I started screaming hysterically, begging in unintelligible sounds to be set free. I wanted to go back to prison, I would finish my sentence, they could even add to it, just let me go. The whip encircled my body and kissed my skin like a knife. My screaming became more hysterical. The whip curled around me, over and over, each time cutting a deep slice in another part of my body. I could no longer think, my mind had left me, my entire world consisted only of this woman and pain.

After a lifetime of the lash cutting again and again, it finally stopped. The skin of my entire body screamed with pain. I felt blood trickling down, I even saw it dripping on to the floor below my inverted head. I was babbling, and slowly became aware of the critical pain in my bladder. I was cramping there, trying to urinate but unable to. I never knew just how painful it could be to not urinate, and it was driving me insane.

Yes... I think I literally was becoming insane. Thinking about it now, I think I had reached the breaking point, that point where victims of the Inquisition would reach and confess to anything, without knowing it or caring.

But I hung there, unable to do anything except swing slightly, back and forth. She reached out and stroked my hard penis once again, gently, sending surges of pleasure to accompany my agony. She lubed my penis and stroked it harder, expertly, and in almost no time I exploded in orgasm.

Except this time my penis was plugged. There was no place for the semen to go. The result was horribly painful contractions, muscles attempting to ejaculate but no path for the liquid to exit. Pressure built, semen collected inside me and simply remained there, pushing painfully to get out.

I continued to scream.

I swung there, screaming and whimpering and babbling incoherently, for a long time. Days, weeks, I don't know. I hardly felt it when she pulled the catheter out, but I knew it when my bladder suddenly expelled a gallon of urine, spewing out with chunks of semen mixed in at first, later just pure yellow urine. It shot out, but the operator took my penis in hand once more and turned it down so that the urine covered my body, my head and face, and trickled in to my mouth and nose. Screams turned into choking coughs, and my body convulsed as it instinctively tried to expel the urine from inside my head.

Relief came at last, as my bladder was empty. I hung upside down, slowly regaining my conscious sanity.

After another half an hour of hanging inverted, the door opened again and two guards entered. I was slowly lowered on to a cart and once laying on it, the leg spreader and hooks were removed. My elbows were unbound which caused a sudden and agonizing pain as nerves began working and blood circulated in my damaged joints. I screamed again, and rolled weakly on the cart.

The operator leaned down, and stroked my hair and cheek before I was wheeled out. "I will see you again tomorrow, won't I? Get a good rest."

I lay on the cart as it wheeled down the hall, not thinking or moving, simply taking in the sensations of the hallway. I had spent an entire day in the torture chamber, and had survived, but in the process had begun to forget who I was, where I was, why I was there. Doors passed by my eyes until the cart stopped in front of one which stood opened. I was lifted roughly by the arms, which caused another shock of pain, and then shoved in to a tiny cell, about 4 feet high by 3 feet wide and 3 feet deep. Just enough to sit in, but not lay down. Cramped, unable to stand, unable to lie. My wrists still restrained behind me. The door clanked shut behind me, and all was dark except for a small amount of light that came through the cracks around the side of the door.

My first day of torture was done. My first period of recovery had begun. I had three more days of this.

Humiliation Cage

I was curled in the small cell after the day of torture, wondering if there was a way to get out of this. My hands were still bound painfully behind my back, and the ring gag was in my mouth. My jaw ached horribly, and my hands were numb.

Exhaustion, more than any pain I had, overcame me, and I slept, leaning against the wall on my side.

I was awakened by the sound of metal scraping, a small opening in my cell door letting light through. A large dog feeding dish was shoved in. It had two bowls, one for food, one for water. The small door in the cell closed. I realized I had not eaten in 24 hours, and slowly struggled in the cramped cell until my head was near the dish.

My ring gag kept me from eating normally. The food was some sort of awful soft mush, and I played with it using my tongue until I was able to get some of it in to my mouth. A day ago I would have retched and refused to eat it, but now I worked hard to get it in my mouth and swallow it. I was pretty sure it was dog food, or something like it.

The water presented a challenge as well, as the ring gag kept me from sucking or drinking. Turning my head sideways allowed me to get little bits of water in my mouth, which I swallowed and then tried again. The whole process of finishing my food and water must have taken an hour, it was so slow. When I was over, I collapsed again in an awkward mass on the floor and slept.

The door opening woke me. Light streamed in, and I blinked under the sudden contrast. The two guards were there, and I began immediately babbling, begging for anything but not another day of torture. The ring gag kept me from being intelligible, though I am sure they new exactly what I meant, what the nature of my begging was. I was dragged out of the cell, and rolled on a cart down to a large concrete room with hoses and drains.

My ankles were bound; I was turned upside down and suspended from a hoist like a carcass in a slaughterhouse. Hoses were turned on me, washing me down, removing caked blood, urine, feces, sweat and dirt from the day before. When I was clean, the guard left for a moment and then returned with a strange device.

It appeared to be a set of metal pipes, jointed together at odd angles. I had no idea what it could be, especially upside down, though I knew it was not going to be fun.

I was lowered, and then dragged over to the pipe frame. Straps hung from the frame and the guards quickly began fastening me to it. It quickly became clear that this thing was like a seat, a chair of sorts, though being a simple metal tube frame; it provided no support, simply restraint.

A single heavy pipe, about two inches wide, had one end resting on the floor and then running up behind my back to above my head. From this "backbone" of the chair, there were two metal pipes extending out horizontal to the floor and angled out at about 120 degrees. At the end, these jointed downward like the legs of a chair. My legs were strapped to these pipes as if I was sitting in a chair, with tight straps at my thighs, knees and ankles.

My waist was strapped in against the backbone pipe, as was my chest, neck and forehead. Two horizontal pipes were adjusted to extend out at the level of my arms, like the crossbeam of a cross. My wrists were untied and my arms were retied to these pipes. As the blood flowed back in to my wrists and hands, the pain surged back, reminding me that there must have been some permanent damage to my hands. They shook uncontrollably and I began sobbing with the pain once again.

I waited affixed to this horrible metal pipe chair, legs and arms spread wide. One of the guards gave me an injection, as I had received the day before. Both guards left and I waited, unable to move, listening to the drip of water in the background, looking at the gray concrete wall in front of me.

The door opened behind me, and I smelled her. My operator had come. The same sweet smell, the same smooth rustle of jeans, and then she appeared before me. A mixture of fear, panic, and desire swept over me once again. I felt, rather than saw, an erection grow between widespread legs. I must have blushed all over, because she leaned down and kissed my cheek lovingly.

"So, I had a good rest last night. I very much enjoyed our session yesterday. I hope you did."

I gurgled a little behind the ring gag and began struggling, jerking against the straps.

"Ah, good. Eager to get started today, I see. We have something special for you today. There was an unexpected... cancellation in the humiliation cage. We shall give it a go, I think."

Her sweet and cruel smile made the panic swell up inside me, and I began jerking against my restraints even harder.

The two guards came in with the cart, lifted my whole framework on to it, and rolled me down the hall. As we rolled past various doors, I heard the faint screaming of another inmate's suffering. This was truly hell. I was rolled in to a room that had almost nothing in it except for some rather complex electrical medical electrical equipment. The guards left and my operator came in.

She was dressed in the same tight fitting black jeans and form fitting black T top she had worn the day before. She was perhaps the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, and I felt my mind draining away...

A large box with many color coded wires was secured to the back of my pipe frame. She took one wire, brushing against me as she did so. I could feel her breast slightly, and her lean frame and ribs. I almost forgot what she intended to do, but was reminded as she took the wire, placed a one inch needle on it, and then carefully inserted the needle under my jaw. I yelped with the stabbing pain and struggled a little as she carefully placed the wire behind me and taped it down so it would not move or come loose.

Another wire, and another needle, under the other side of my jaw. The same process repeated. More needles inserted in my neck, the base of my head, between the vertebrae in my spine. My elbows were pierced, an agonizing stab worse than any accidental funny bone impact, my entire arm jerked and burned from the pain. The needles continued to go in to my body, at all the major muscles and joints. Once in, there was no more pain, though the needles in the joints caused horrible agony when first inserted.

Two wires were attached with flat electrodes rather than needles and placed on small straps just below the head of my erect penis, and another at its base. I was completely wired up, though most were taped and strung behind me, making them invisible to someone standing in front of me.

She brought over a huge plastic bag filled with some thick dark semi-liquid substance. A long tube ran from the bottom of it, and as she forced the tube up my nose, she talked.

"Remember all the stuff you spewed out of your body yesterday? Vomit, urine, feces... even a little cum I do believe. Well, this is it! Yep, we don't throw your precious body fluids away. We save them for you, for days like this. All for you. Enjoy it now, its all you will get for a while."

The tube reached in to my stomach, but none of the bag contents flowed in. The bag was hung from a hook on the back of my metal frame, and some sort of device to control the flow of thick liquid attached.

I was rigged up good. A little uncomfortable, but not in any real pain. It wouldn't last though, I just wondered what the "humiliation cage" was. I was about to find out, as a large metal door opened on the other end of the room and I was rolled through it.

I found myself in a small cube, with the concrete wall at my back and a floor-to-ceiling wire mesh fence or separator on the other three sides. I faced out, and saw through to the other side of the mesh. A large open area, almost a gallery of sorts was on three sides of me. Directly in front of me was some sort of panel which faced out toward the gallery. A wire assembly that came out of its back ran over to me and was plugged in to the electrical box on the back of my metal pipe frame.

The purpose of the humiliation chamber began to dawn on me. The dozens of electrodes embedded in my body, with controls from the panel in front of me. A gallery, open space... and there they came... people began wandering in to the gallery to observe me as I sat strapped immobile and spread wide before them.

I couldn't tell for sure, but from the way the people milled around and moved, I was not the only "exhibit" on display that day. Others were also stationed further on. I was one of several available. I waited.

An elderly couple came up to my panel and read something on it. Then the man reached out, and pressed a button. Pain shot through my jaw from one side to the other, and I involuntarily bit down on my ring gag as hard as I could. I grunted, and tasted the coppery taste of blood. The old woman giggled a little, and said "can I try?"

She reached out, and pushed another button. A searing pain shot through my throat and I temporarily gagged, unable to breath. When it finally cleared, I gasped air in and panted heavily.

Just then the outer door opened and a large number of people came in. They were girls, ranging in age from about 16 to 21. They wore school uniforms, plaid skirts, fitted white blouses, and were led by a woman about 30, who gathered them about her. The teacher / guide then gave them a little lecture.

"Girls, girls, pay attention! As you know, you should not be embarrassed or shy. The prisoners you see here are all violent criminals and this is part of their sentence. They are all volunteers, and are receiving significant sentence reductions for their participation. Feel free to browse and experiment, but remember you will all be required to write a one page essay on the neurological reactions you observe."

The girls swarmed around my control panel, reading directions. One blonde cheerleader type said loudly "ooohhh this one says to feed him. Lets try it." The button was pushed and a slight whirrrrrr... announced that thick brown liquid was being pumped in to my stomach. As it was expelled from the tube inside me, I could feel my stomach begin to fill. The knowledge of just what was being forced in to my stomach made me sick, though mercifully the pump cut off before filling my stomach with too much of my previously discarded body fluid.

The girls were talking nonstop, and then suddenly grew excited. They had found something on the control board they wanted to try. A button was pushed.

A pulsing electric shock, quite mild, ran through the electrode on my penis. The pulse was constant, repeating over and over... I could feel the muscles in my penis and deeper in my groin contracting with it. It became a strange mixture of pain and pleasure, and before I knew it I was looking at the crowd of girls, looking at me, and could think of nothing but having them all naked and on top of me. My hips began jerking and I suddenly climaxed, jerking semen out hard, squirting over and over, the electrical impulses providing the strangest stimulation that kept drawing out the orgasm... and then stopped.

That had been the strangest feeling in my life, being brought to an orgasm without being touched, exposed and being watched by a crowd of schoolgirls. I flushed all over, realizing just how exposed I was, simply a toy or experiment for these girls. My body was theirs... waiting for them to experiment with me.

My semen had been caught by a measuring cup on a small pedestal in front of me. I had not noticed it before, but it was obviously there for that specific purpose. I was once again amazed at how sitting here, exposed, humiliated, in pain, and just recovering from a prolonged orgasm, that my erection maintained itself.

Distracted, I didn't realize the girls were about to push more buttons, and the sudden pulse that hit my stomach surprised me. The pain shot from my back around my ribs, and my stomach muscles contracted heavily, forcing a prolonged grunt that became a forced cry as the muscles continued to contract painfully. My cry became a gurgle as I was unable to breathe, the continuing electrical shock forcing my diaphragm to contract and push every milliliter of air out of my lungs. When the shock finally subsided, I sucked air back in with a huge gasp, and let it back out in a scream from the residual pain.

Some of the girls stepped back, horrified by the expression of my pain. A couple looked sick and walked to the side. But a few were busy looking for other buttons, arguing which to push next.

One cute girl with sandy hair, freckles and a young fresh face argued that I should be forced to orgasm again. Others wanted to see what might make me scream the most. An agreement was reached as I watched helplessly... a button was pushed and a shock hit my elbows.

I screamed, loud and long, as the pain spread from my elbows and penetrated my arms. My hands became claws and I strained against the straps so hard they cut in to my skin. Blood trickled from the straps. The pain suddenly stopped, and as I recovered, I saw that the buttons were on some kind of timer. A skinny girl with long dark hair and a dark sultry look about her was still pushing the button, unhappy that my reaction had ceased.

Another button pushed, my knees cramping this time, another scream. This went on for some time, until the sandy haired girl finally got her turn. The pulsing in my penis began again... once again I felt the muscles contracting, the pleasure flooding me, imagining myself with the sandy haired girl, entering her, taking her, writhing with her as my orgasm took me and I spurted out again, filling the measuring jar in front of me with more semen.

"Did you see? Did you see? How he reacted? I think he actually liked that!" she giggled. "I could see everything. Now I know what happens to a guy when they are inside me. I never knew before."

A new group of girls joined the first group. The teacher was with them and made a suggestion.

"Do you see this button? It controls the nerves running to the intestines. It will create a peristalsis, a painful contraction and cramping of the bowels. Try it. Some of you might have experienced a mild form during the enema class we had a few weeks ago."

The button was pushed... and my lower abdomen felt like an iron band had suddenly tightened inside it. The convulsions moved and rippled in a most unpredictable manner. It was the worst cramping pain I had ever experienced and I cried out once again, struggled against my straps and tried begging for mercy. My ring gag prevented me from being understood, but some of the girls seemed excited by the noises I was making.

The cramping went on and on... until suddenly, my bowels let loose with a huge expulsion of diarrhea below me. Tears streamed down my cheeks and I continued making open mouthed cries and babbled after the cramping had subsided.

Some of the girls went on, looking for different exhibits. Two of the girls, the sandy haired cute one, and the dark haired goth one, stayed and began alternating choices. It was obvious they were enjoying the experience more than the others. This wasn't just a learning experience for them, they were actually getting off on my agony, as I struggled and cried and writhed against the pain that traveled from my head, my jaw, arms, hands, chest, legs, and finally ended in another orgasm depositing more semen in the measuring jar. In fact, the dark haired one had begun to reach under her skirt to stimulate herself to my cries.

The sandy haired one noticed what the dark haired one was doing and yelped "Janice! Don't do that, what if someone sees you!"

"Fine... you do it then," Janice replied.

The sandy haired girl looked around, realized they were alone, and slipped one hand under Janice's skirt. "Heather... you are the best. Harder... I want to be hearing him scream when I cum!" Janice slipped a hand under Heather's skirt as well, and I had a perfect view of the two girls engaged in mutual masturbation. Not for long though, as another button was pushed and my eyes closed as I screamed again and again with pain and convulsions in my bowels, stomach, and then involuntarily smashed my jaw down on my ring gag again. The pain was pervasive, complete, and random. I never knew when it would hit again, and it was horrible.

I was screaming from burning electrical pain in my shoulders, elbows and cramped hands when Janice the dark haired one climaxed, grabbing Heather's hand and forcing it in to her all the way. Having achieved her satisfaction, Janice concentrated on Heather, who switched to the penile stimulation once again. I sat and watched Janice get Heather off as the strange electrical pleasure overwhelmed me and forced me to ejaculate once again, dumping another load of semen in to the jar.

Janice and Heather were interrupted, and quickly withdrew their hands from each other's skirts, by a family. A decent looking middle class couple with two kids, both teenagers - a boy and girl. As the two school girls left the room, the family stopped suddenly, seeing me behind the mesh. The woman flushed a deep red.

"Sean... he has... he is aroused..."

Her husband glowered at me as if I was somehow insulting his family by my unmoving exposure of my genitalia. He looked down at the controls, and started flipping switches. As the pain surged through various parts of my body, I groaned, screamed, cried, and shuddered. He finally activated the feeding tube, and more thick brown liquid descended in to my stomach.

"Sean, I didn't expect anything so... decadent. I am not sure I want the kids to see this."

The man looked at her with a strained patience. "Lois, we discussed this, and you agreed. The kids need to see the consequences of being a lowlife criminal. Its a part of life we have protected them from, but they need to see it."

The woman turned aside and mumbled "I suppose..."

The son came up to the control panel, and tried some buttons that were not working at the moment. He hit one that was working well, though, and my stomach and chest constricted again, diaphragm squeezing air out of my lungs with an agonizing groan and wheeze. I almost lost consciousness, until the penile stimulation was applied again, and my hips began bucking, pushing more sperm through and finally squirting a huge load of semen out and in to the receptacle. My groans attracted the woman's attention and she looked again at what was happening.

"Oh. My. God. That stuff in that jar.... it’s... his stuff!"

The daughter pushed my bowel button and the cramping began, making me scream for mercy, until once again my anus opened and expelled what little fluid I had left inside.

"I am leaving," the woman stated emphatically as I gasped for air and attempted to recover.

"Daddy, can we stay longer and play with him?" asked the daughter.

"Lets move on. I am sure there are other exhibits worth looking at." The father guided the family out of the room.

I was losing track of how many times I had ejaculated, but it seemed like a lot, even for me. Half the day was gone, but I could see the jar with my collected semen. It looked like a good 8 ounces, and I was still rock hard. My balls ached, but that was nothing to the lingering pain in the rest of my body. I began to realize that the injection I received had something to do with keeping me erect and producing more than the usual amount of sperm. It also kept me conscious; as I was sure I should have fainted from pain by now.

I was filled to overflowing with the feces/urine mixture pumping in to my stomach, and was relieved when he pump stopped. Nausea swept over me as my stomach rejected the horrible mixture. No one was in the gallery though, and it was wonderful to have a period when I didn't have to suffer.

After a couple of large doses from the feeding bag, it was not surprising when my bladder became filled. I needed to go pretty badly. By this time, the idea of letting loose any body fluid, even in the presence of the watching public, didn't bother me. I had been degraded to the point I didn't give it a second thought.

But, my constant, hard erection made urination difficult. I tried to release my bladder, but nothing much came out. Two young couples came through and began laughing at me and my predicament, and the girls seemed to be fascinated with the penile stimulation button. Climaxing and spewing even more semen to fill the jar was not conducive to urination, either.

Finally, during a lull in the flow of people, I was able to get the flow of urine going. The relief was wonderful, even as the urine pooled below my metal framework chair. But then... the urine must have triggered something. It touched a contact or completed some circuit, because the metal piping to which I was strapped suddenly flowed with an agonizing bolt of high voltage that made me scream louder than ever before. Every muscle in my body tensed and cramped, and my screaming dwindled in to a choking gurgle as I could no longer breathe effectively. This went on for what seemed like an eternity. I was sure I was dead. I knew this was what the electric chair felt like during an execution. My urine was going to kill me, and I wished it would hurry.

Then, as suddenly as it began, the shock ended. My body was soaked with sweat, I was breathing as if I had just run a marathon, and I couldn't see very well because of the flashing in my eyes. My bladder was still half full, but I held it.

Before I could recover completely from this unexpected massive jolt, two couples, men and women in conservative business dress came in to the gallery. They were young, good looking high powered executive types. They were undoubtedly gym members, had great bodies under the conservative suits and were all good looking professional types. It looked like they were out on a martini business lunch, enjoying a local sight, which just happened to be me, humiliated, naked, and in agony, ready to experience more torture at their hands. They began playing with buttons, looking for ones that obtained the most reaction from me, either through severe body contractions or my agonized screams.

The most surprising thing happened. I was in a haze from the rapid series of shocks I had been receiving, but was able to focus enough to see one girl, leaned over the control panel. The skirt from her business suit had been hiked up around her waist, her panties moved aside, and one of the men had unzipped and entered her from behind. Her chest was resting on the control panel, and with each thrust from behind, her breasts briefly pushed one of the buttons, producing a moan, a yelp or a scream from me along with a convulsion in some part of my body.

The couple was looking intently at me, as their sexual movements and rhythm had a direct effect on my agonies. Each thrust caused me pain, and her pleasure. Each wriggle was fun for them, and agony for me. As she began to reach climax, her breasts pressed down on the panel, pushing more buttons, causing increasing agony and screaming from me, and when they climaxed, it was accompanied by a long, guttural cry from my throat as my gut wrenching contractions pushed some of the semi-digested brown filth out of my bowels once again.

As the couple stood and straightened their clothes, I began gasping deeply, recovering from this latest round of humiliation and pain.

"That was incredibly hot! Amy, are you up to trying that?" said the other guy. In response, the other woman lifted her skirt, leaned over the control panel and spread her legs. The process was repeated, with my moans, screams and agonies coordinated with and supplementing their intercourse. Apparently my agony turned them on quite a bit, because they climaxed quickly, much to my relief.

They straightened their clothes, primped their hair, and then moved on, leaving the gallery blessedly empty for a while. Just as they were leaving the room, one of the women ran back, and pushed a last button. The feeder tube was pumping more filth in to my stomach as they left.

I hung from the pipe frame more than sat on it. My involuntary straining and jerking against the straps had cut deeply in to my skin and blood was running over my body, dripping on the floor where it mixed with other fluid emissions from my body. I wondered how long I had been here. All sense of time had left me. Now that I was alone for a moment, waves of humiliation flooded over me. I realized just how degraded I was, in front of anyone and everyone who marched through and decided to participate in my "sentence reduction."

Nausea flooded over me in waves like the humiliation, partly caused by the pain and exhaustion, and partly by the horrible fluids being processed by my stomach and bowels. My bladder was full again, but I dared not relieve myself, having learned what happened earlier. The pain of my distended bladder was bad, very bad, further contributing to the nausea.

Just then a new wave of people entered the gallery, and I steeled myself to once again becoming the degraded pain toy of these random strangers.

Somewhere late in the day I completely lost control over my mind and body, urinating at will in spite of the horrible electrocution that followed. The people in the gallery were no longer people to me, just moving shadows that accompanied my agonies. Just when I began to feel my pounding heart and rasping lungs would give out and I would die, the gallery cleared and guards came in, wheeling my frame out of the cage and back in to the preparation room.

Great bundles of wires were jerked out of me all at once, and more blood streamed down my flesh as I screamed hoarsely once more. Unstrapped from the pipe frame, I collapsed, unable to move. Dragged to the cart, I remained motionless as I was wheeled down the corridor. My wrists were secured behind my back once again. The leather holding my ring gag in place had begun to stretch from the strain, and they tightened it a notch, pulling it back deeper in to my mouth.

I was kicked more than shoved in to the tiny cell, where I noticed for the first time in two days that my erection had subsided. Consciousness faded as the door slammed shut, leaving me in darkness.

The Rack

  I was awakened once again by the sound of the slide opening in my door and more dog food and water shoved in. Heaving myself around to get to the food was easier this time, but getting it in my mouth with the ring gag, and swallowing it, was still a tedious and time consuming project. I fell asleep again when done.

  The door opened, awakening me suddenly. Water sprayed in, washing me down, and cleaning some of the stench from the inside of my cell. I was pulled out and placed on a cart once again, where I received my daily injection. I was then rolled down the hallway, past many cell doors. As we rolled down the hall, I noticed small brown spots on the concrete floor... dried blood, or something like it. This place had not been in operation that long, and it was already showing signs of its use. I wondered if any of it was mine.

  Lifted up by both arms, I was dragged in to a torture cell. It was neat, clean in a hospital kind of way, as the other cells had been. Equipment in this one was a little different. It seemed cruder, less medical in form and more like farm implements. Most items I didn't recognize, though one large item caught my eye as soon as I entered. It was a table, metal, with a slight slope toward the center that ended in a drain. Just as the floors were designed for easy cleanup and drainage, this table was designed to catch body fluids and drain them below the table.

  On each end of the metal table were small round cylinders, each of which had a length of sturdy nylon rope wrapped around several times. It didn't take me long to realize what it was, and what I was in for today.

  It was a rack.

  I began to scream in fear, sweat poured from my body, and I struggled. But I was weak from the abuse of the last two days, and it was no trouble for the guards to lift me up, and tie my hands and feet to the ropes at each end of the table. I was stretched out, though not uncomfortably, and lay there waiting, shaking from the cold metal of the table on my bare flesh.

  My operator entered the room as the guards left. She was looking cuter and more erotic than ever. Instead of the black pants, she wore a black leather skirt which showed beautiful legs. Her midriff peeked out of a top which didn't quite meet the top of her skirt. Her hair was down today, and the long black silkiness framed her face and made her look softer and more inviting, especially with the hint of freckles.

  But the look on her face was businesslike, and she came over and checked my bonds to make sure I was secure.

  "I just love the rack," she purred as her hands ran over my body, checking me. "We have a variety of medieval devices around here, some of which I may be able to let you use tomorrow. But this one is really a fav of mine."

  After she was satisfied of my position and the tightness of the ropes on my extremities, she moved away for a moment. When she returned, she had the strangest thing with her, a large shiny metal sphere. She showed it to me with obvious enjoyment.

  "This is simply lovely. It goes over your head. I love the concept... you can't see and have no idea what is going to happen. And you can't hear much, either. Except..." and here she grinned, " your own screams. The spherical shape does a great job of echoing those back to you, amplifying the sound. Your world will be filled with nothing but your pain and the sound of your screams. Let's try it, shall we?"

  She opened a latch on the bottom of the sphere, slipped it over my head and then closed the latch. The world went dark, I could hear very little but my own labored breathing. She forgot to mention there was no good air supply, either, and the air got stale quickly, which increased my heart rate and breathing.

  I lay waiting, and then felt the ropes on my arms and legs begin to pull in opposite directions. It didn't hurt, as yet, but was beginning to place increasing tension on my body. I felt muscles stretch and joints align.

  The process was agonizingly slow. Each minute I was pulled a little further, which added to my discomfort slightly. I was then left to contemplate what was happening to my body and how it hurt, before the next turn stretched me a little further. Pain began shooting down my back, joining the pain in my joints. My wrists were horribly stretched and my hands were numb.

  Inside my helmet I began to involuntarily moan from the pain. In some places, like my arms and back, it felt like muscles or tendons were being stretched beyond their limit and might tear. In other places, joints felt like they were giving way and sharp pains radiated from my shoulders, some places in my back, and my hips.

  I tried not to make noise. I tried my best, even bit my tongue, but as the stretching lifted me completely off the table and my body became as taught as a rope holding a great weight, I let out my first of many screams. It echoed back to me, resounding and penetrating my head with an unexpected volume. My own scream hurt my ears. It tortured me and I screamed again as the agony in my spine spread across my back and to my chest.

  It was impossible that the human body could take this abuse, I thought. I was right, too. It couldn't. With a sudden pop, my right shoulder dislocated. My screaming became frantic, the constant stretch of the rack was tearing me apart and the bones in my shoulder were no longer holding my tendons in place. They stretched and twisted far beyond the point of holding, and I wondered if my arm would tear off.

  As I was contemplating the screaming agony in my dislocated shoulder and the agony of my screams inside the helmet, my left shoulder dislocated as well.

  Still, the stretching continued. My entire body had become one twisted, agonizing fire of pain. One of my hips would be going next, I knew it, but until then my shoulders hurt the worst. This pain was far beyond what I had experienced the day before, and there was nothing, absolutely nothing to distract me from the experience. In my dark pit the only sensation I had other than the pain was the sound of my own screams, amplified and thrown back at me.

  My hips popped out of place at the next tightening of the rack. Both, one moments after the other. My body was stretched so taught I could hardly breath, my screams were getting softer because it was almost impossible to take a breath against the crushing power of the rack stretching my body. I begged to die.

  How long I was in this state, I don't know. There was no sense of time, no light for me to see. I can't even tell if I fainted or not, I don't think so because the drugs they had injected me with were enough to keep me awake, but I don't think I would know if I had. I simply floated in a sea of pain, unmoving, the pain rippling and swirling around and inside me.

  Sensations changed after a while. The pain changed, the feeling of muscles and tendons tearing seemed to lessen, though at the same time the agony continued. After a while I realize the rack was being loosened. Firm hands gripped one leg and shoved the hip joint back in place. The other followed soon after.

  The stretching pressure continued to ease, and my shoulders were pushed back in place. The pain eased tremendously with this, though the residual effects of having my joints, muscles and tendons ripped and twisted continued for some time. Instead of screaming, I cried, the sound of my sobs echoing back at me inside the dark sphere.

  The metal sphere was removed from my head. My sobs deepened as I sucked in fresh air. My operator's long hair was hanging down in front of me as she looked down at my face from above. Her hand was gentle, soft, and the look on her face was almost loving as she wiped tears from my cheeks and cleaned the sweat with a damp cloth.

  The rack was released enough that my limbs were still held wide apart, but there was little tension left on my body. My operator lovingly cleaned my naked skin with a wet cloth, which felt wonderful in the wake of so much pain.

  My mind, my sanity, was leaving me. I could take no more. I wanted to tell her, beg for death, but with the ring gag firmly holding my mouth open, and my swollen tongue, I could do nothing but make primitive grunts and moans.

  Rest came, laying on the rack. Pain slowly subsided. My operator waited by my side, and began slowly stroking my swollen and erect penis. It must have been erect the entire time, though I didn't know it. Her gentleness now was so welcome, so desirable, I wept with joy for the rest in her company.

  After my tears stopped, she stood and walked over to a counter on the other side of the room. She returned with a thin piece of rope, and a leather folder that was zipped shut. She tied the rope around my scrotum, at the base of my testicles. Several loops of the twine were wound tightly. It cause some mild discomfort but was not too painful.

  She raised herself high to slide the rope through a pulley above, and in doing so her top slid up exposing a beautiful, flat stomach. I could feel my erection throbbing as I looked, and was not prepared for the sudden pull on the cord. It tightened around my scrotum, and then pulled upward, lifting my testicles high above me. I yelped with the sudden pain.

  She pulled hard. My hips raised up, trying to relieve the squeezing pain that was radiating from my groin. This just made her raise my testicles even higher, and soon I stopped trying to relieve the pain. I could see my poor genitalia turning purple as they were compressed by the tight cord, and I was whimpering in pain.

  My hips eventually gave out, and I could no longer keep them raised. I sank back down, and the cord pulled even more cruelly on my scrotum. The pain was radiating out across my hips, down my legs and up in to my stomach. I was getting nauseous, unable to deal with my body screaming out that something was wrong, that it was being damaged, that I needed to do something, anything to protect it. But there was nothing I could do but lay there and endure...

  My operator had left me there for a while, when she turned and opened the leather folder, examining the contents. Eventually, she selected something and turned toward me. I could see what it was through the tears in my eyes. An inch long, thin, shiny silver needle. I cried out through my ring gag, pleading, but she might as well have been deaf. My cries had no effect.

  She stood next to me, and slowly examined my scrotum, which was now a deep blueish purple and looked shiny like a balloon filled with air to the point of popping. Alternately stroking my hideously swollen erect penis and my testicles, she considered options and angles.

  Finally deciding, she positioned the needle at the top of my left testicle, pointing down. With a slow, steady movement, the needle was pressed in, piercing layer after layer of soft tissue, sticking slightly at some stiffer tissue, sliding deeper and deeper, and creating unbelievable agony as it penetrated. My screams were hysterical, panicked, and I choked on my own saliva.

  A large concave mirror was moved in to place, so that I could observe what was happening in great detail. I looked up, and saw something that bore little resemblance to what I knew as my genitalia. It looked like a large children's deep purple party balloon, except there was a needle sticking out of it.

  Another needle was produced, the same stroking, fondling and final decision on its entry point, all amplified and viewable to my eyes in the large mirror above. The needle sunk in, creating more agony, though at this point it was becoming hard to differentiate between one agony and the next. She moved it slowly in, taking several minutes until it passed completely through and the point protruded from the other side.

  She turned, selecting another needle. I wondered how many needles she was going to use, not that it mattered a lot any more. I was no longer in my right mind, and had begun alternately crying, screaming, laughing, and begging. The new needle must have been six inches long, and was twice as thick as the others.

  The familiar flowery smell of her hair shocked me as she leaned over my face, and kissed my cheek. She then returned to my testicles, positioning the needles on the side, horizontal to the floor. She was going to ram this thing through both of them.

  She began shoving, slowly but firmly. I felt like I was being castrated, slowly. The pain caused such nausea that I vomited. My mouth, forced open with the ring gag, served to collect the puke and hold it in place. I turned my head to keep from choking on my own vomit, spitting it out on to the metal table surface.

  The heavy needle had made its way through one testicle and was stuck at some stiffer tissues before entering the other one when the door to the torture cell opened.

  My operator looked annoyed, and went over to talk to the guard. I didn't hear much over my groans and yelling, but I could tell the guard was talking urgently to my operator. She in turn looked angry.

  "Yes, yes, I understand. This is shit. He is mine for another day. This will be the second time in the last two months!" I could tell she was upset.

  The guard mumbled some more, and she responded "No, I haven't done any serious or permanent damage, damnit. Thats not the point. OK. Fine. But he gets to finish his hour out. I have 15 minutes. Come back then."

  The guard left. She shut and bolted the door.

  Removing the needles went a lot faster, and hurt just as badly as when they went in. The rope pulling my testicles up was lowered and then removed, and as the blood flowed back in, the pain did too, renewing my agonies.

  I lay on the table... she had 15 more minutes... something had happened... she had 15 more minutes... I thought I was going to be taken out of there for something else, but for what? And she had 15 more minutes.

  What was she going to do with those 15 minutes?

  She moved smoothly to the other side of the room, where she took something off a table. When she returned, I saw she had a simple leather strap with a wooden handle attached at one end. I had no idea what it could be. I lay on the table, looking up at her, feeling the cold metal below me.

  The ever present hose was produced, and she sprayed me off, rinsing my vomit down the drain, along with the blood and sweat produced by the last round of torture she had bestowed on me. My body was cleaned as if I were a corpse in a mortuary.

  Then the most unusual thing happened. I remember this part more clearly than any other during my entire ordeal.

  She hiked her black leather skirt up, hooked her thumbs under black lace panties, and pulled them down, removing them. I could see between her legs, for a moment. This came as a shock to me, it was so unexpected. I was laying on the metal table, arms and legs secured above and below, recovering from the last round of agony, and my operator was doing a kind of bizarre strip tease in front of me!

  To my greater surprise, she came close to the rack, climbed up and straddled me. My hard erection felt the softness between her legs, and slid in the wetness as she leaned forward. She leaned close to my head, and bent down, threading the leather strap under my neck. The end of the strap was brought to the other end that had the wooden handle, and was tied off there. She then began twisting the handle, wich slowly tightened the leather around my neck.

  It was garrote. With her last 15 minutes, she was going to kill me. I knew it, in my soul.

  I tried to scream, but couldn't, the strap was already too tight around my neck. Breathing was very difficult, and the pressure in my head was building.

  I felt her hand on my penis, raising it up and positioning it at the entrance to her vagina. She was wet, very wet, the head of my penis had no problems sliding in. She slowly lowered herself on to me, and my penis was sinking deeper and deeper in to my torturer's body. At the point of full penetration, she twisted the garrote, increasing the choke. Breathing was almost impossible now. As I struggled, attempting to keep conscious and get some air, I could feel her sliding up and down on my incredibly hard erection. Amazing as all this was, it felt good, better than I had ever felt. She was amazing, the sensation amazing, as I felt an orgasm building just as panic rose from lack of oxygen.

  My hips thrust up with her rhythm, pressing in and out of her, soft folds of her body urging my sperm to travel through my body on its journey toward ejaculation. I wanted to come inside of her so badly, and each twist of the garrote threatened my life, my breath and my desire to squeeze and spurt my semen inside of her body.

  As my tongue swelled and protruded, my eyes bugged out and my face turned purple from the strangulation, my penis also swelled, and pressed in to her. The orgasm came as an explosion, with her pressing down hard on my hips, urging me on, urging me to dump as much as I could inside of her, the soft wetness of her body sucking my testicles dry of sperm.

  The orgasm receded, and as it did, the garrote was released. Blood flooded back in to my head, and air in to my lungs. She slowly slid up and off my penis, and took a cloth to wipe herself, as my semen was already draining out and down her leg. Climbing off of me, she kissed my forehead, then put her panties back on.

  I lay on the table, completely amazed. I thought I had lost my mind. Three days of seemingly endless and unendurable pain had just ended in the most intensely pleasurable sexual experience I had ever had.

  After more recovery time, I was sprayed off, and then untied from the rack. My body was too battered and weak to do anything by lay there as she took a strange stiff but flexible metal cable and rammed it up my ass. She inserted it deeply, perhaps 3 feet, and I could feel it penetrating deeply inside my bowels. A small black box with a couple of lights and a dial as attached to the end and then taped to my back, just above my ass.

  Guards came in, and helped put me back in to an orange jump suit. I didn't quite understand what was happening. I had experienced three days of agony, but expected a fourth. Was my sentence being terminated early? What had happened?

  Just as I was about to wheeled out of the room on the cart, my operator leaned down and kissed me long and hard. She whispered in my ear... "I didn't use birth control. I will try to let you know if we have a child. Later, dear. Perhaps in another place, another time."

  This final revelation was such a complete shock, I simply could not understand it. I lay on the cart, rolled out of the cell block, across the courtyard. My body felt completely broken. I felt completely devastated. My mind was cracking. And now... my torturer... the operator... the woman, the beautiful but deadly woman that had almost killed me... was telling me that I might have a child with her...

  The cart was rolled inside the administration building, and brought to an office door. It was the Warden's office. Known as the most sadistic and feared warden in the entire penal system, the man that presented himself to me as I was dragged in to his office appeared to be a small, geeky bureaucrat. I was dumped in a chair facing his desk.

  "Ah yes... welcome, welcome. Glad to see you. You look terrible. But then, thats to be expected I suppose. How is dear Vicki? Victoria, you know... that is your operator's name. She is amazing isn't she? Beautiful, to die for really. Though we try to avoid that."

  I still had my ring gag in, and slumped in the chair, drooling on the front of my orange jumpsuit. The warden picked up a glass jar that was full of about a pint of some white milky substance that had a strange slimy look to it.

  "Yes, yes. You see this? This is why you are here. This is yours, you know. This is all the semen collected from you yesterday. Do you see?" He held it up close to my face. "We had it tested. Its all viable, high sperm count, good quality. Can you believe it? Can you believe you produced all this?"

  I started at the jar, unable to comprehend.

  "Thats right. You! Of course, you were injected with a stimulant to help sperm production and to keep you going, erect you know. But even so, this is an incredible amount for just one day. Not too many like you. Makes you a perfect candidate."

  My bowels exploded in pain. The probe she had left up my ass had suddenly released a shock from electrodes buried deep inside me. I bent over and grunted, moaned, cried out... and then it stopped as suddenly as it had begun.

  "Oh come on," the Warden looked offended. "Its a good thing, no reason to react like that. Look, here is the deal. The Centers for Disease Control have a new program going, its cloning really, they don't call it that, but that’s what it really is. But... they need sperm. A lot of it. Viable sperm, to use in their development and research. The potential... it’s incredible. But they need volunteers."

  The Warden looked at me from behind his desk as he set the jar full of my sperm on his desk. "OK. So here is the deal. You have one more day of torture coming. Its yours, we can't back out of it unless you agree, and you can't back out unless we agree. So... if we both agree, we will cancel the last day. You get sent off on this other program instead. Trust me, much, much more comfortable than here. Good medical care, three square meals, air conditioned, clean sheets, and..." here he laughed, "as many orgasms as you can handle in a day."

  "So, what do you say? Do you want me to send you back to Vicki?"

  I shook my head, unable to speak because of the ring gag, but making it very, very clear I did not want to go back to "Vicki".

  "Well then... lets just sign the documents, and we can have you on your way tonight! Here they are!" He indicated some papers on his desk.

  As I reached out to sign, my bowels exploded in pain again... I grunted... doubled over... my hands were chained to my waist, but I managed to get up and sign the papers... and the pain left as suddenly as it had come.

  "Excellent, excellent. Lets get that gag off you, eh?" The warden reached out, and unstrapped the ring gag that I had worn for the last three days. My jaw wouldn't close at first. "Don't worry, don't worry, you will be fine... that will wear off in a couple days. Well... we may not see each other, so... enjoy your new position as a professional sperm producer!"

  He shook my chained hand, and then called for the guards who came in and dragged me out. The probe inside my ass fired off again, doubling me over in pain, so the guards put me on the cart and wheeled me out.

  I was on my way to a new life as a sperm producer, whatever that was. It didn't really matter. As long as I didn't have to return to the gentle care of "Vicki".

Sperm Producer

  I bounced along in the back of a van, my orange jumpsuit covering most of the evidence showing the last three days of torture. I had been given a decent meal before having my wrists chained to my waist and then led to the van where I was chained to an eye bolt in the inside back compartment. There was enough slack for the bouncing to hurt, not enough to move and get comfortable.

  For some reason, the guards at the prison had not removed the anal probe, and at random intervals from 5 to 30 minutes apart I received a jolt of searing pain deep inside. It would last 2 or 3 seconds, and then subside, allowing me to recover. This legacy of Vicki, my torturer in the prison, was to stay with me a little longer, it seemed.

  After an 8 hour drive, we arrived. I had no idea where we were, as the van had no windows in the back. The doors opened and I was unlocked and pulled out in to a hot, dry desert with nothing but a dirt road extending miles behind us. I was led around the van, where I saw the low one story concrete building complex. It had a main entrance, and wings that extended in either direction. Small windows, high in the walls, were the only openings. Air conditioning rumbled on the top, for which I silently gave thanks.

  We entering the main building, and passed through a small lobby with a guard at the front wearing a white uniform with strange insignia. Turning to the left, we went down a small hallway and in to a clean room, completely white. I was chained to the wall and left. As the door clanged shut, the anal probe fired off again and I groaned, wondering if there was any way I could get it out myself with my wrists chained.

  I waited. It must have been an hour or more, based on the number of times I received a shock from the anal probe. Finally, the door opened and a tall woman with short blonde hair entered. She was wearing white clothes with insignia on them, not unlike the guard in the front. Her stern but beautiful face looked at me with poorly concealed contempt, though her attitude changed a little when she picked up a file folder and read it. She glanced at me, and said in a low, almost husky voice, "You have quite a referral here. I am not sure I believe it, but if its true, we will need to take care of you. Potential for a truly productive spermer..."

  The door opened and two other women entered. One was small, with long straight brown hair and very skinny. Her eyes were brown, and hard. The other was average height, a beautiful voluptuous body, sandy hair and deep blue eyes. She wore a white uniform like the others but hers had thin, light green stripes. A name tag on her white lab coat announced her as "Megan". The brown haired one's name appeared to be "Shari."

  The tall doctor unlocked my chain from the wall, and before I knew what had happened, Shari had stuck me with a cattle prod. The shock knocked me down and as I was recovering, the doctor and Shari worked efficiently to remove my jumpsuit. As the shock wore off and I began to gain control of my body again, Shair prodded me and I was again unable to move. Once I was naked, laying on the floor still drooling and unable to move from the shocks of the prod, Shair and Megan moved in with straps. Bending my arms up so my hands rested on my shoulders they placed the straps around my wrist and upper arm, securing my arms in that bent position. I essentially had nothing but arm stumps, my hands were now useless.

  The same happened with my legs, the ankles securely strapped to my thighs. I could now move, but could not walk, pick things up, or do much else except roll around on the floor. Which I did as the the anal probe fired again and I cried out in pain.

  The doctor examined me, and found the probe. "What the hell is this? No wonder he is acting so weird. Those idiots in the penitentiary..." She yanked, ripping the flexible probe out of my anus, and ripping some of my rectum along the way. I screamed a little, but was silenced by the cattle prod.

  "Megan, why don't you take him down the hall, show him his room, and get him settled."

  Megan attached a collar to my neck, along with a chain. She spoke in a high voice, almost like a teenager. "Come along now, and I will show you all you need to know. This isn't a friendly place, but I am sure its light years better than the prison. Now... get used to standing on your limb stumps. That’s the first thing. Roll over and get up..." here they pushed me over and got me up to where I was supported on my knees and elbows.

  "That's it. I am Megan, your Mint Striper. Think of me as a trainee around here, but I am really the main person that will help you get accustomed to your new environment. Now... let’s walk..." and she led me slowly out the door.  Walking, or waddling, on my elbows and knees behind this girl, like a pet, I flushed with embarrassment. She was being nice to me, but then again... it was clear I was actually being treated a lot like a pet, an animal of some sort.

  We stumped down the hall past a number of small rooms. She unlocked and opened a door to a room which was a plain white, like the rest of the facility, and furnished very sparsely. It had a mattress, a small toilet, and a water spigot and sink. All these were placed low to the ground, at my eye level as I stumped in on my elbows and knees. I was shown how to operate the sink with my mouth, and use the toilet. It became clear, very clear, that my current state of bondage was to be more or less permanent while I was at the facility.

  I began to ask about getting something to eat when she interrupted me. "Stubbies don't talk," she said. It wasn't a command really, more of a statement of fact. I was a stubby... and I didn’t talk.

  I stumped over to the bed, rolled over on my back and the door clanged shut behind me. As bad as this place was, I was in a private cell with a decent bed, my own toilet, it was clean and air conditioned, and I was beginning to appreciate it. I fell asleep soon after.

  Rudely awakened by the scraping metal sound of the door opening, my Mint Striper entered. She reattached the leash to my collar, and led me slowly out of the room. Traversing the long hall, we came to a larger room that was set up like an operating room facility. I began to shake with fear, as it appeared very similar to the torture chamber that had broken my mind just a day or two ago. The tall woman doctor was there, helped me on to a table, and set up a standard medical IV. In moments I was unconscious.

  When I awoke I was back in my own cell, and my crotch was sore. Investigation showed that a small tube had been surgically implanted, and while it was clamped off, it was obviously to be used for urination. I had been equipped with a urination bypass of sorts. With my arms and legs strapped up the way they were there was no way I would be able to unclamp the tube. I would be dependent on my Mint Striper or someone else to unclamp me and allow me to urinate.

  Food was pushed through a small opening in the door, a tray full of interesting smells, though the food was all mushy. Stumping over I lowered my head to eat. The mush made sense because without hands I needed something soft. But the food was good, better than the dog food and body fluid discards I had been fed in the last few days. I ate and drank my fill, then went back to the bed and collapsed again. Between the rest and food, I was beginning to feel stronger.

  I woke the next morning to severe bladder pain. I needed to pee, badly. My bladder was full, but clamped off by my newly inserted bypass. It was awful. I started to call out, asking for Megan to come and help me. Nothing happened for a while, until finally the door opened and the Mint Striper entered and poked me with a cattle prod. It knocked me to the floor immediately, and as I slowly began to recover, Megan took a ball gag, calmly inserted it in my mouth, and then thoughtfully stated again "Stubbies do <strong>not</strong> talk."

  I got the point. I was a stubby. I didn't talk. If I did talk, they would make sure I didn't talk any more. I grunted, and looked down at the space between my legs.

  "Do you need to pee? I suppose you might... poor thing. OK. Come over here..." she led me to the toilet and then reached down and unclamped me. A hard stream of urine came out and in a moment the pain subsided. When I was finished the clamp was replaced.

  I noticed that once again my penis was erect, almost painfully so. Jutting out at an odd angle, hard as a rock, it was unnaturally swollen. Megan reached down and stroked it kindly... murmuring something to herself about what a fine stubby I was. I was ragingly horny, aroused beyond belief. I could not understand why, but I wanted her, or any woman, so badly right then. There was something in the food, I knew it, but it didn't matter... I still wanted her. If I didn't get release soon, I was going to go insane.

  My Mint Striper left, and I started trying to roll or rub my penis between my thighs to get some satisfaction. It wasn't working, and I found myself crouching down on the floor and trying to hump the mattress. Anything. I was humping whatever I could find, my arousal was so complete and I wanted to orgasm so badly I was willing to use anything. I looked around the room, as my hips thrust against the bed. There was the faucet to the sink. It was too small... but damn, there was no other possibility. Stumping over to the sink, I was about to try squeezing my hugely erect member in to the small faucet when Megan entered again.

  "BAD! Bad, bad, stubby. Don't ever, ever waste your seed. That would hurt you so bad, anyway... you might lose your penis that way, and then what good would you be? Let's go see if we can help you some better way..."

  Taking my leash, she led me down the hall once again, and finally in to a large room with about 20 sets of strange looking platforms. Several other Stubbies (sperm producers....men...) were on top of some of these platforms. I could see something of what was happening.

  Each platform was a milking station. The stubby would rest, face down, on a kind of bed that was on a 45 degree angle to the floor (the head higher than the legs). Thus, they were able to look down at the floor, as well as up at passers by or at each other. There were slots with supports for their stunted arms and legs (strapped as mine were). Where their crotch was located the bed support ended, and their genitalia hung down. All had huge erections like mine, but had a small item of equipment on their penises. A small rod was strapped to the bottom of their erections which had electrodes at several points along the length of the penis, a ring fastened around their scrotum to help keep the rod in place, and a single electrode behind the scrotum. Their testicles were also large and distended, partly from the ring circling their scrotum, but it seemed likely they were engorged artificially with drugs, similarly to their (and my) penises.

  I wanted relief. I didn't care too much how I got it at that point, I wanted to have a climax, spurt my load, get past this huge, massive desire that was threatening to drive me insane. Obediently climbing on a platform, I positioned myself as the others were. Megan stroked my penis, murmuring positive sounds as if I were a pet. She strapped me in to the supporting bed at my waist, making sure I would not be able to move out of place. She then fitted me with a similar rod strapped to my erection and scrotum, and plugged me in.

  As the electrical current began flowing along my penis in a slow but regular pattern, she took a glass jar and placed it just below me, ready to catch any penile emissions. My head hung over the end of the supporting platform, and could see everything that she did to me. I could see my penis begin to throb with the stimulation, and in a few minutes my eyes had glazed over and I lost all sense of who I was or where I was as a huge orgasm rolled over me.

  My ejaculation seemed to go on forever, but when it finally ended, I could see the glass jar had a nice sampling of my sperm in it. My panting slowed, and I lay there, waiting, unable to move, wondering what was going to happen next.

  In a moment one of the other Stubbies started moaning, grunting, and then suddenly spurted from his penis in to a jar just like mine. Watching it happen was amazing... I had never seen another man orgasm before, and I stared with curiosity. Just as he was finishing, the process began with another man a little further down. Quiet moaning, followed by grunting, heavy breathing, the involuntary thrusting of hips, and finally a huge ejaculation of sperm flowing down in to the jar.

  It was quiet in the room. One of the other Stubbies was moaning, or whining, softly to himself, but there was no talking. I would have tried, now that the Mint Striper was gone, but I was still ball gagged. After about 15 minutes, it began again.

  The mild shocks, stimulation on the underside of my penis. The rippling, stroking effect starting behind my scrotum, then forward and up to the head of my erection, it didn't take long before I was drifting off in to my own land of sexual climax...  completed by the release of another load.

  This then was the day, the life, of a sperm producer. Resting comfortably, face down at a 45 degree angle, for hours, in a room filled with other sperm producers. Every half hour or so the electrical stim would begin, forcing more sperm from me. In between, I rested and heard the random grunts and moans of the others as they went through their own cycles of sperm production.

  It was torture in its own diabolically different way. The drugs they gave us in the food gave me a constant, painful erection and made me desperately aroused, willing to do almost anything for sexual relief. They also seemed to increase sperm and semen production, as could be seen by the swollen testicles. As a result, a sperm producer could produce a quart or more of sperm a day, orgasming at least 15 times a day.

  I was never allowed to talk, and quickly learned not to try. Moaning, whimpering, barking, mewling, panting... they were all allowed. But no speech. With the absence of speech and the animalistic treatment we received, I began to <em>become</em> an animal. Megan, my dear Mint Striper, was a good pet owner. She lovingly took care of me, sternly disciplined me and helped me adapt to being an animal with one basic purpose - to produce as much sperm as I could each and every day.

  You would think that being constantly horny, and able to climax 10, 15, 20 times a day would be heaven. It wasn't. It was its own kind of hell, painful and profoundly unnatural and degrading.

  Until one day, Megan did something different, unusual, and highly against the rules.

Sperm Amok

  Megan, my Mint Striper (so called because of the short dress with light green stripes she wore each day), was cute, kind, and treated me like a loved pet. She had the loveliest sandy hair, cut short but fluffy and a little curly. Her freckle sprinkled face made her look a little younger than she was. I figured she was about 18 or 19. A fully developed figure was clearly visible beneath her uniform. Most of the time I saw her I was at the level of her legs and knees, and I became familiar with them in detail. Sometimes I was lucky enough to see her legs up to the point they connected with her body.

  She was so lovely, so sexy, it was all I could do to keep from trying to satisfy my chemically induced lust on her young body. Once or twice I actually tried. Not even thinking about it I attempted to climb up her leg and hump her like a dog. I didn't do this too many times, as it resulted in a stunning jolt from a cattle prod. She was kind, but she had her limits.

  One evening, Megan came in to the milking room a little early, and unhooked me. Any change in routine was eagerly accepted, so boring was life in that clean white hell. My leash replaced on my collar I was lead back to my room, and my urethral drain was unclamped, allowing me to evacuate the urine that inevitably built up painfully during the day. She reclamped it, provided some food and water, and left, locking the door behind her.

  About an hour later, she returned. This was also unusual, and I padded over to her on my stumps, looking up curiously, making a small whining sound. It looked like something was wrong with her. She was distracted, upset, or something. Maybe a little flushed. I couldn't tell. I wanted to make her feel better, she was my owner, the only good thing in my life, the only thing of color... but all I could do was sit on my haunches and whine.

  She looked down at me, and kindly stroked my hair and face, a strange sad smile on her face. Unexpectedly she sat down, with her back against the opposite wall, facing me. She seemed to be thinking hard, and her left hand slowly reached under her dress and pulled it up, exposing herself to me. Her hand then traveled between her legs and pulled her panties to the side. She started rubbing herself gently.

  My eyes were huge, my erection as hard as ever, and I almost went forward to her, to take her and enter her. How could I resist? But the feeling of the debilitating cattle prod was still in my memory, and I held back. She seemed to be thinking as she self-stimulated, slowly and thoughtfully rubbing. I stared, seeing every bit of her wetness spreading around her genitalia, I could hardly control myself.

  It must have been obvious the mental anguish I was in, wanting her but afraid to approach. She suddenly looked at me with a new look, as if a decision had been made. She stood, reached behind her and unzipped the back of her dress. It fell to the floor, revealing an incredible, youthful, muscular body of perfection. Fear struck me, the fear of not being able to control myself with her in this state and then being shocked with the prod. I ran to the corner and whimpered as she undid her bra, revealing perfect breasts and erect nipples. I hid my face as her panties came off, and she was naked in front of me.

  My erection throbbed all the way in to my testicles, pounding with the desire for release. She softly padded over to me on bare feet, took my collar, and guided me to the bed where she thrust me on my back. Thus exposed in front of her, she climbed up, straddled me, took my rock hard penis, and slid it slowly but steadily in to her.

  As many orgasms as I had experienced in the past weeks being milked, nothing could compare with the real, live, soft, wet, wonderful woman that enveloped me at that moment. A few thrusts, met by her grinding on my pelvis as she moaned, and I climaxed hard, spurting a huge amount of semen in to her. I grunted, moaned, pushing, emptying myself. It was amazing. Incredible. And it didn't stop.

  Once I climaxed, I should have tired and withdrawn, but the drugs kept me going. She continued to grind on top of me, running her hips up and down, sideways, every way to create every sensation possible, and I remained rock hard and as eager to continue as ever. She had an orgasm, I could see the flush on her chest and neck, and then I climaxed again.

  This went on, and on... neither of us stopping, neither wanting it to stop until we collapsed from exhaustion. She lay next to me on the bed, panting, gasping for air, as did I. Sweat covered both our bodies, making them shiny. I could not hold her, as my stubs could not reach around her, but I nuzzled her neck and cheek affectionately.

  After recovering sufficiently, Megan rose and moved to put on her clothes. As she walked over to them, she discovered an interesting side effect of our session. I had produced so much semen; it had filled her to overflowing. It drained down her leg like a small river now that she was standing.

  She went to the toilet to let some of it drain, and then wiped herself clean with the sheets from the bed. It took longer than she expected. Just as she thought the last had come out, more leaked down in small rivulets, the evidence of my massive ability to orgasm repeatedly, and ejaculate semen each time. I was a sperm producer, after all.

  Finally cleaned and dressed, she opened the door, looked back at me once with a strange look of thoughtfulness and worry, and then left. I lay on my bed, wondering what this meant, but glad it had happened.

  I loved her. I wasn't <em><strong>in </strong></em>love with her, I don't think I could have been. But I loved her as a dog loves his master, willing to do anything for her. She was my life, my focus. She had complete control over me, my body, and my emotions.

  The next few days were as normal, up in the morning, eat and drink, out to the milking room, lay on the bed and produce sperm all day, back to the room, eat, drink, sleep. Megan gave no recognition or hint of what had passed between us that night.

  Then one day as I was laying on my platform waiting for the next round of stimulation which would coax more sperm from my body, the door opened from the end of the long room and a number of people entered. All the Stubbies looked down, this was the most unusual event that had occured in some time. Led by the tall austere doctor that had originally greeted me, were about 8 or 10 visitors in suits or casual business clothes, including three women. They were receiving a tour, being shown the operations and having the process of milking sperm explained to them.

  "The Stubbies are provided with solid nutrition and plenty of fluids. They need this in order to replace the fluids lost during the milking process, of course. The direct catheterization you see below their scrotum allows us to drain their bladders without contaminating the semen.

  "Mixed in their food and water are a variety of chemicals designed to increase sperm and semen production. As you can see these have the effect of swelling their testicles. The increased sperm production also increases their sex drive significantly, so much so that they must be kept restrained at all times, or they would become quite dangerous."

  One of the women in the back of the group was staring at my swollen penis, and asked tentatively, "They seem quite... well endowed. Have any of the staff... well... tried them out personally?"

  The doctor laughed disdainfully, "No... I don't think so. Not only is it against the rules to intentionally remove and waste their sperm, its simply... well, they aren't really human after all. They are more like...animals. I don't think anyone here would have sex with one of these any more than they would with a dog!"

  They filed past, and in the back of the group I saw several Mint Stripers, including Megan, who was looking at the floor and whose face had turned bright red. As she passed, another series of impulses hit me and I began sliding in to yet another orgasm...

  Seven days later, Megan again came to me in the evening. I could tell she was drunk this time. She undressed herself quickly, and this time seemed angry. I cowered in the corner, and she grabbed me roughly, pulled me to the bed, and lay naked with her legs spread wide. There was really no way for me to suppress my urges. I mounted her, and we cycled through orgasm after orgasm together for what seemed like hours. I could have gone on forever, but she became worn out (something I had never experienced in my life).

  After cleaning herself of the copious amounts of my semen draining from inside of her, she dressed, kissed me once, and left.  Semen from the whole experience covered the sheets of the bed. I lay in a pool of my own ejaculate, and dreamed of Megan as I slept that night.

  Life continued predictable over the next few weeks, though several of the other sperm producers left during this time. There was no indication what had happened. One day they simply were not there. Two new ones were added, and it was strange watching them adapt and transform themselves in the docile Stubbies we were destined to become.

  Then one morning, I was awakened at the usual time, but not by Megan. Another Mint Striper, one that I had seen tending to other Stubbies, was there. She hooked the leash to my collar and we stumped down the hall. But we went the other direction.  Something was wrong, very wrong. I started whining and making query noises. She ignored me.

  After a long walk we stumped through a door in to a new room that looked much like the milking room in which I had spent so much time. But this time, instead of platforms with Stubbies lying comfortably with their genitalia hanging down, there were several things that looked like form fitting beds with straps hanging down. On two of the beds lay strange figures that I could not understand.

  I was seated and strapped to a metal chair facing the wall. The doctor came in, and did a quick exam of my nose, eyes, mouth and ears. All appeared well and she inserted a feeding tube up my nose and in to my stomach. Bad memories of being force fed by Vicki at the prison rushed back to my mind and I began squealing and struggling. The result was an injection and moments later I felt a flood of relaxation. I ceased to be afraid and simply dosed as they worked on me.

  After preparations were complete, I was led over to one of the empty beds. As I obediently climbed on, I was able to see the figures in the other beds were also Stubbies, like me. They were laying on their backs, but they didn't seem to have heads. This worried me a little, but I was floating pretty high by then and didn't really care too much. I lay down on my back, and was strapped down at my chest and waist. With my arms and legs still strapped back on themselves in my Stubby restraints, I was helpless to move much at all.

  My head lay in a strange form fitted cradle. It was hard, but not uncomfortable. My view of the ceiling above was suddenly obscured by an object which was brought above my head, and then lowered on to my face.

  With a rush of panic, I understood. My head was being placed in a metal tight form-fitting helmet, with no openings except for the feeding tube which was threaded through one of two small holes positioned at the nostrils. My body was exposed, but my head was encapsulated, entombed as it were, in a padded metal helmet that was bolted to the bed and allowed for no movement, no vision, no hearing, no talking or noises to escape....

  My stubby arms and legs flailed, I screamed repeatedly, jerking and thrashing against the restraints, regardless of the relaxant drugs I was on. Being mummified was enough to panic anyone at any level of consciousness. After a bit, I had no strength left, and stopped struggling, simply laying on the form fitting bed, my arm and leg stubs splayed out to the sides obscenely.

  After a while, I felt a slow flow of liquid through my feeding tube.

  A little while longer, and I felt some sort of equipment strapped to my genitals.

  It was dark, and quiet. I could not move. I could not hear or see or taste. I existed only in a floating darkness.

  A while later, the first electrical impulses rippled through my hardened penis and I orgasmed, ejaculating a huge load.

  Silence and darkness covered my world. My mind began filling the darkness with images. I heard small sounds, though I did not know whether they were real or not.

  The electrical impulses began again, small shocks which quickly brought me to orgasm, ejecting more semen.

  I began counting the orgasms, trying to see how long I had been there.  After I got to about 150, I lost count...  by then<em> </em>I was hallucinating and was seeing people, feeling their touch and even conversing with them.

  Sleep came and went, but I could not tell when.

  I screamed, again and again... or did I? Was that just another hallucination?

  I was no longer a sperm producing animal. My mind was no longer of value.

  I was a sperm producing machine, without a mind.

Rehabilitation

  I was in pain.

  It had grown slowly, but was undeniable. I hadn't moved in years, in the dark, unable to see or hear, unable to feel anything. At least it seemed like years. I had no sense of time, and my reality was just the hallucinations in my mind.

  But one thing was very clear. My testicles hurt. Badly. And I was no longer having orgasms. Not that I didn't ejaculate, I did that constantly, or so it seemed. But there was no longer any pleasurable sensation associated with the production of semen. Instead, my testicles ached horribly, swathing my entire groin and hip area with pain.

  When the bolts were removed from the form fitting helmet, I didn't understand what was happening. My mind had gone so completely, it was just another hallucination. Even the searingly bright light didn't affect me at first, it was just another horrible dream. Hands unstrapped me, and slowly lifted me, and moved me to another bed, a gurney because I was rolled out of the room.

  I started laughing hysterically, drooling on a pillow under my head, placing my hands on my head and body... and then realized that my arms and legs were unstrapped and free as well. I was no longer a Stubby. The sensation of touching myself with my hands, and stretching my legs out, were all so unexpected, my hysterical laughter continued.

  A medical exam, performed by a male doctor, was followed by a sponge bath. My eyes were beginning to work again, and I could focus and see the people coming and going from the room. The doctor leaned over me and asked if I could understand him. I nodded my head.

  "You have been released from the sperm production farm. The sperm production program was terminated and all Stubbies released. You are being transfered to a work farm, where you will be treated much, much better than here. I am the doctor from that work facility, and I guarantee you that you will receive meaningful work to do, companionship, intellectual and physical stimulation and be much, much happier.

  "Your arms and legs, in fact your entire body, has muscular atrophy from lack of use. We are getting you ready for transport, and by tonight you will be located in your new home. Starting tomorrow we will begin working on getting your body back in shape. We will also be working on your mind. Do you understand that you were driven insane by sensory deprivation in the last 6 months?"

  Six months... had it been that long? It hadn't seemed that long, but at the same time it felt like a lifetime. I nodded my head.

  "Good. You need retraining to get you back in shape both in mind and body. We will provide that in a humane, responsible way. A strict regimen of exercise and disciplined structure will help you get back to normal in no time."

  I closed my eyes and lost consciousness.

  When I regained consciousness, it was very dark and I thought at first that I had been hallucinating again, and that I was still encapsulated as a sperm producing machine. I quickly realized I wasn't as the bed of straw on which I was laying stuck me uncomfortably and my hands went instinctively to scratch. This small motion, the act of scratching, made me burst in to tears, it had been so long since I had been able to move any part of my body, let alone my arms and legs.

  Exploring my environment, I found that my arms and legs were extremely weak, unable to hold my weight. I dragged myself around a little, and discovered that a thin rounded metal ring around my neck was chained to a wall. The room I was in resembled a horse's stall more than anything else, and it was clear that I had already been transported to the work farm the doctor had talked about. Food and water was available in dishes off to the side, and I actually fed myself with my hands, a very unique experience.

   After feeding myself, I unclamped the urethral bypass and let out the contents of my bladder, and then shit on the floor. This was a mistake, as my chain was short and I had shit right were I had been sleeping. I ended up getting my own shit all over my legs and side as I settled down again for some sleep. It didn't really bother me that much. My current situation was better than anything I had experienced in months, and I was slowly becoming convinced it was not another hallucination.

  I next woke in the morning. The sun was up and cracks in the stall's wood walls let a lot of light through, as well as openings where the walls met the roof. I was in a barn of some sort, and I could hear others stirring in stalls near me. There was even a little talking. I had not talked in so long, I wasn't sure whether I could or not. Regardless, this place felt like heaven to me.

  A door opened and a tall woman, wearing jeans and a work shirt, with short brown hair and a bored, rather plain face, entered. She looked at me and the stall, and immediately let loose a long string of expletives, apparently over the mess I had made the night before. She strode over to me, slapped my face hard three or four times until I was knocked down. Then she produced a key, unlocked my chain and pulled me (rather than led me) out in to a wide central barn corridor where she rechained me. She busied herself cleaning my stall.

  I lay observing my environment. I was on a country farm. There were rows of stalls, their doors all locked shut with beams across the outside. Each stall had a number on it. The number on mine was #6. There were larger rooms at either end full of strange equipment, harnesses, ropes, and finally doors that were open to a tree studded meadow on one side, and a dirt yard with other buildings on the other. The farm looked almost peaceful, and I felt a calming effect as I began moving and exercising my arms and legs for the first time in... I didn't know how long.

  My penis and testicles were still swollen, erect, and distended. I knew I had not been on the drugs for sperm collection for a while, and wondered how long it would be before the effects wore off. My testicles hurt, and I felt the urgings for release hitting me again. It had probably been a couple of days since I had ejaculated, and after having ejaculated once every half hour for the last... maybe 6 months, I felt a real need. My hands went down and before I knew it, I was stroking myself, masturbating. I quickly orgasmed, leaving copious amounts of sticky fluid in a pool on the dirt floor.

  I was just beginning to stroke myself to a second orgasm when the handler came out and saw me. She made a noise of disgust and took a whip that was hanging from her side, spinning it around and then letting it lash out, encircling my body. I screamed. The huge bull whip felt like it was cutting me in half. It lashed out again, curling around my shoulders, the tip snapping against my cheek. It lashed out a third time, and a fourth, cutting stripes in my skin which oozed blood.

  Sobbing in a heap on the ground, I waited.... and after a bit the handler came over and yanked me to my feet. I was unable to stand, I was so weak. As I began to sink down, the chain around my collar tightened, pulling me back up. Choking, I looked up and saw the chain was now fastened to a pulley high above me. The handler pulled and the ring collar yanked me higher, cutting in to the flesh of my neck and making me choke. My hands automatically went to my neck, but all they could do is scratch at the ring, and after a while I simply hung there, most of my weight on the collar, some supported by my weak legs.

  The handler brought over a leather harness, and with quick, expert movements, placed it on my body. The harness ran around my hips, between my legs and to either side of my buttocks. Further leather straps ran up and across my back, chest and shoulders. Numerous D rings, eyelets and other attachments were placed strategically, ready for use.

  As the choking hold of the collar forced the blood pressure to build up in my head, the handler inserted something inside my anus, which suddenly pierced through the flesh, inserting a metal ring. At one time I would have screamed from the pain, but compared to what I had been through the discomfort only caused a loud groan. The anus ring attached to a locked ring around my scrotum, and was secured tightly in place. There was no way to get the device off without tearing open the side of my anus and ripping my testicles off in the process.

  Just as the blackness of unconsciousness was beginning to overtake me, the chain was released and I collapsed to the floor. Huddled there, I rested from this latest ordeal.

  Other handlers had come, and were removing other workers from their stalls. They were all naked as I was, all wearing the same permanent ring collar, and all with the same leather strapped harness. The main difference was that all these workers were strong. Their muscles were hard, their hands, feet and other places on their bodies were callused, and their faces had a hard, resigned look.

  I was surprised to see that some of the workers leaving their stalls were women. All of them were long, lean, strong specimens, with short cropped hair but clearly visible breasts and the fine lines of well honed female bodies. They wore similar harnesses, and appeared to be ready to work for the day as the handlers led them out of the barn.

  One woman in particular caught my attention. Her skin was covered with a light sheen of sweat, as the day was beginning to get hot. Her hair was a natural auburn, and while her body was very mature and well formed, her face appeared softer, and younger than the others. I felt my constant erection throbbing, and began to move slowly as she passed me.

  There was a sudden searing pain, cutting from inside my bowels to my testicles. It only lasted a second but it was enough for me to fall, curl up on the floor and scream. The slight smell of smoke met my nostrils. My handler knelt next to me, lifted my head to look at her by the hair, and said, "That was just a little something to get your attention. She is not for you. You have other work for now."

  I nodded, and she pressed a small button on a remote that looked like a car key remote, and my lower body shot through with searing pain once again. I screamed a long scream that slowly died as the air was expelled from my lungs, and I gasped air back in.

   "Remember that," my handler said. "Now. Let's get to it. Crawl... do not walk... crawl to that end of the barn."

  As hard as it was, I crawled. Each time I collapsed I received a cutting lash with her bullwhip. She pushed me the entire morning, back and forth, crawling, and then rolling, squatting, all sorts of various exercises to rebuild my muscles. By the end of the day my body was a mass of stripes from the whip, blood streaming down so that I looked like someone had dumped a can of paint over me. She had used the anal shock ring twice more during the day, each time evoking a scream and putting me out of action for 10 minutes while I recovered.

  In the evening, I was returned to my stall. Food and water were given to me, which I eagerly consumed. My arms and legs felt like lead weights and were wracked with cramping. I fell asleep as soon as the sun went down.

  I had begun my rehabilitation.

Arrangement

Time at the work farm went quickly, day after day rolling by. During the first weeks, I was strengthened by being forced to perform a wide variety of exercises and work. As I strengthened and was able to walk normally and eventually talk to some limited extent, I began to participate in some of the group activities of the other workers.

Along with the physical strengthening, my mind was formed, restructured and molded. I had lost most ability to reason as a result of six months of sensory deprivation, and was relearning to speak. I reacted to most things with fear, or aggression, and had to be prodded or tamed.

My time as a Sperm Producer had left me with a permanent, massive, erection as well as a highly elevated libido. The handlers were not aware of this at first, until one day about a week after my arrival, my handler called another male handler over and said "Hey, Ian, look at this. I have never seen anything like it, " and then turned to me, and demanded "go ahead, do it."

I knew what she meant and began stroking myself. It only took about a minute before my orgasm waved through my body, my hips bucked involuntarily and I ejaculated a huge quantity of semen all over the dirt floor of the barn.

"Holy Crap! That was fast, and look at all the jism... is he a breeder or something? I have never seen anything like that." The male handler was impressed.

"That's nothing," my handler smirked. "Look at this. Do it again, dog!" she ordered.

I did. It took two minutes this time, and the orgasm hit me and I ejaculated as much as before, creating a significant mud puddle on the floor between my legs.

The handler's amusement was short lived, for my irresistible urges drove me to begin attempting intercourse with other worker slaves. The first time I was allowed to join the herd for a work duty, we were placed in a holding pen in the sun, numerous naked and sweaty bodies crowded together. There was little I could do to stop myself. The auburn haired female, the one known as #11, was standing near me and I moved to her. Before she knew it I was inside and pumping. Her eyes grew big, and she staggered forward, surprised but quickly accepting what was happening. The feeling of being inside her was the most delightful thing I could imagine, the stroking stimulation was heaven. She leaned against the wooden fence of the pen, spreading her legs slightly as I pushed harder and harder, until I exploded inside of her.

As I began to pull out, she pushed back, indicating she needed more, and so I continued to push. I was fully capable of multiple, extensive orgasms by now, and my second one coincided with hers nicely. Unfortunately, the quanitity of semen I deposited inside her was enough to cause significant and noticable leakage. And noticed it was, as the handlers separated her, and then me from the rest of the pen.

"Both of you! 10 strokes on the spike! Now!"

What did this mean? We were roughly grabbed and moved to a clear area that had several short posts sticking up out of sockets in the ground. We were both made to stand over two of these short posts. #11 was crying a little, whimpering, as if she knew what was coming. I did not.

Our ankles were firmly anchored to plates in the ground, preventing any movement. Then, an adjustable pin running through one of a series of holes in the spike was removed. The spike was raised, higher and higher until it reached my anus. It continued to push higher, forcing its way inside, penetrating higher and more painfully. The spike did not have a sharp end, but it was tapered, letting it penetrate high inside my colon, perhaps as much as a foot before the handler reinserted the pin and I was left standing, partially impaled on the spike, unable to move my legs, held motionless by the horrible metal pole inside my body.

I moaned, and grunted, and then looked at #11. My sperm was still leaking down the inside of her leg as they inserted a pole up her vaginal opening. They pushed it up higher and higher, and she attempted to stand on her toes to relieve the pain, though the ankle fastenings kept her tied motionless to the ground on either side of the spike.

Finally, the spike was pinned in place, and she was held motionless, the heavy metal rod inside her assuring that she moved as little as possible.

Both our wrists were locked to our neck collars, and the whipping began.

Someone behind us had a huge, long black leather bullwhip. I could hear the hiss as it spun through the air moments before it struck, wrapping around my body twice before the end snapped to a stop. Each stroke was like a red hot brand streaking across my skin, and I could not help but scream and jerk at the pain. Unfortunately, the jerking made the spike dig deep in to my bowels, causing more pain, more screaming, which in turn was followed by another ominous hiss as the whip kissed my skin with pain.

10 times the whip stroked my skin, removing chunks of my flesh as it did. After the 10th stroke it was all I could do to keep standing, but stand I must for anything else would lead to a real impalement by the spike. I bled freely, and the blood mixed with sweat as it trickled down my bare skin.

The hiss of the whip was heard again, but this time it was followed by a scream from #11. I looked over and saw her muscular, perfect body leaning slightly forward and tensed with every muscle in fine definition as the curled black whip slid away from her flesh, leaving a trail of blood behind it. Again and again the whip struck her, coaxing a scream each time. She tried desperately to stay motionless to prevent the metal spike from tearing her cervix, but some movement was unavoidable and I could see a little blood trickling down between her legs, sliding over the dried remains of my semen.

When the whipping was finally over, a handler behind us said "1 hour on the spikes!"

All was quiet for a while, except for my strained breathing and #11's quiet sobbing. We stood, unable to move, legs strained and bodies weak from the whipping, but unable to let go. One slip and the spike could impale either one of us, bringing mutilation, or even death.

The other worker slaves passed by after a while, most averting their eyes from our fate. A few leered at the spectacle. All were gone, off working on a nearby road, within a minute or so.

An hour is a very, very long time when you barely have the strength to stand, but you must to prevent yourself from being torn open on the inside. When the pin was removed and the spike slid down and out of my body, I fell forward, collapsing in the dirt. Moments later, I heard #11 collapse beside me.

I spontaneously ejaculated on the earth.

A bucket of water was dumped on us, and we were sent back to the barn for the rest of the day.

After this incident, my genitalia were placed in a leather sack locked on to my permanent harness, to keep it from bothering others and prevent me from playing with myself or entering anyone else. Nevertheless, my urgent and constant need to satisfy myself was not solved by the sack. Rubbing my penis inside the sack was irresistible, and my sack would quickly become a gooey mess, leaking down my legs.

I was fitted with a chastity device after the sack proved inadequate. The handlers obtained the largest one available, which was still too small, but they forced me in anyway. My arms were tied to rings high up in the wall of my stall, and my legs were tied wide apart, exposing my genitalia for easy access. Two handlers took the device, and began pushing my penis in to it. It was a series of rings, each ring smaller than the first, and the last two with small, sharp spikes. My hardened penis fit snuggly through the first ring. With some lube and effort they got it through the second smaller ring as well, though it hurt and I began moaning. The third ring was lubed, and after pressing, pushing and compressing, my penis finally pushed through. The third ring was small enough it was cutting off the blood from the tip of my penis and the throbbing pain made me cry out for mercy. The last two rings had spikes, but there was no way they could fit me in to them. The ring assembly was finally secured firmly to my testicles, to prevent removal.

That night, I lay in searing pain as my penis throbbed from the constriction. I cried, moaned, called out for mercy. The next morning when my handler entered and inspected the handiwork, the end of my penis had turned a very dark purple. True, the erection had subsided some, but the result was tremendous pain and poor blood flow. I was sent to work, digging irrigation ditches that day, but was not productive because I kept doubling over with pain.

That night the head of my penis had started to turn black, and the chastity device was removed. They had to cut it off, it had sunk in so deeply, no amount of lube could remove it..

A compromise was needed if they were going to preserve a good worker slave.

The door to my stall was opened one evening, and #11 was thrust inside. She collapsed on the straw next to me, naked and glistening except for her harness. She lay on the straw, breathing heavily, her breasts moving up and down, skin shiny, legs slightly parted. I did the best I could not to mount her, but she reached out and stroked my cheek, and kissed me. "It's OK, I have been placed here to help meet your needs. I am yours, for now."

I mounted her, once again feeling the inside of her body, but this time with her arms and legs wrapped around me, and entered heaven.

We were joined continuously for the entire night, giving each other orgasm after orgasm, climax after climax, until we lay together, exhausted, with dried semen covering both our bodies. It was only about an hour later that we were awakened and had to join the others to begin work. In spite of our lack of sleep, I was more productive and harder working than ever before. The arrangement worked well, and #11 took up permanent residence in my stall.

My stall was the only one that had two numbers on it. #6 and #11.

Life at the Farm

Life at the farm was hard. The slaves were workers, close to animals, kept only for the value of their labor. Food, shelter, and other necessities were provided, though only to the extent necessary to optimize the work output.

As hard as we worked, in fields, roads, or whatever the current job, the slaves were always hot, sweaty and getting very dirty. Once a week we were provided a shower. For this ritual, the entire stable entered the shower room (there were many barns on the Farm, each one had its own facilities). The shower room was a small concrete cube, just large enough for the slaves to squeeze in all at once. We would stand, naked bodies pressing against each other in the stifling heat of the room, sweat mixing with the three or four others that stood next to you. Suddenly, sprinklers were turned on above, showering the room with an even flow of water. All of us would welcome the water, drinking it, moving around trying to get it to cover our entire bodies, washing the filth of the week off. It took about 5 minutes, after which we were removed. The weekly shower time was one of the few pleasant experiences at the Farm.

Unlike the weekly shower time, slaves were sometimes selected for a thorough cleaning. The first time this happened to me, it came as a shock. The handlers identified me, and roughly indicated I was to be cleaned. #11 looked at me with pity which I did not understand, until later.

I was taken to the far side of the Farm, where there were a series of posts sticking up from the ground about 15 feet high. My wrists were fastened to ropes as I was positioned between two of the posts, and then both ropes were run through pulleys, lifting first my arms, and then my entire body in the air, until I was hanging several feet above the ground, legs dangling, arms stretched up and out toward the pulleys on the poles on either side. My ankles were fastened to additional ropes and tied off, spread wide. I was spread eagled, suspended by my arms up in the air, my entire body exposed.

The main handler for my stable, the shapely but plain looking woman, approached with two hoses. Nozzles on each held the water pressure back. She pointed one of the nozzles at me, pressed the release handle, and a hard stream of ice cold water hit me square in the chest. The shock made me suck in a lungful of air.

The handler ran the high pressure water stream over my body. Suddenly, the cold water turned hot, and the scalding difference in temperature made me scream. The high pressure hot water was sprayed over my body, and between my legs, where it settled on my scrotum and testicles. The pounding pressure felt like I was being beaten with a club, and I screamed again, the pain from my abused genitalia quickly spreading across my hips. I struggled what little I could, and in a moment the water suddenly turned ice cold again. The massive temperature change was agonizing, and my yells and pleas for mercy began to stream continuously. In response the ice cold water was directed toward my face, where the high pressure forced it up my nose, and in to my mouth, where it filled my sinuses, throat, and began to make its way to my lungs. I choked, coughed, gasped, each gasp taking in more water.

I was drowning, suspended in the air high above the ground.

At last the water moved away from my head. Several more temperature changes lashed at my body, and the high pressure water stream made its way up my anus, giving me an impromptu enema.

The whole cleaning experience must not have taken more the 20 minutes, but when I was finally lowered to the ground, I was shaking and sobbing, unable to move. I was dumped in a wheelbarrow, and delivered back to my stall, where #11 was waiting for me.

Benevolence on the part of the Farm handlers was frequent, and frequently a painful, humiliating experience.

The slaves had needs, and while many of the needs could be ignored, work was better when some needs were fulfilled. One day I was selected to fulfill one of the needs which diverted many of the male slaves from work, and even caused some fights when not properly met.

My handler entered my stall one morning, unhooked me from where I was chained, and led me out to one of the large corrals used as a holding pen for the slaves before or after work. In the center was a wooden saw horse, a simple 2x4 with two legs descending in a V shape from each end. The handler forced a ring gag in to my mouth, and then jerked my slave collar down until I was laying on the thin board lengthwise. My arms were secured to two of the legs at the front, tight straps securing my wrists and upper arms near my shoulders. My legs were tied securely to the saw horse legs at the rear at the ankles and thighs. My head hung slightly over the front of the saw horse, partially supported under the chin by the end of the horizontal beam, and my buttocks and genitalia hung out just past the other end.

As a number of slaves were allowed in to the corral, the handler applied a good amount of slimy lube to my anus. Once thoroughly lubed, something metal was inserted, painfully, and thrust in deeply. Much to my dismay, it was a speculum, which was slowly opened, widening my anal opening, stretching the muscles. After a few minutes of having my anus stretched open, the speculum was removed, and the handler left the corral. I lay on my stomach, waiting, not knowing what to expect.

After the handler left, several of the male slaves approached. They all had huge erections; this was not an uncommon sight, though it was unusual that all of them were erect at once. It soon became clear why, as they pushed and shoved each other to reach me first. A penis was shoved in to my anus, penetrating suddenly, deeply, and somewhat painfully. I realized I was grateful for the lube that had been applied, as I felt the hard flesh begin stroking and pushing deep inside me.

Just as I realized what was happening behind me, another male slave pushed in front of me, and placed his erection inside my yawning wide mouth, held open by the ring gag. He tasted dirty, salty and bitter. It shoved in, deep, all the way to my throat, and I gagged. I could feel the shape of the penis, the ridges of skin, its hardness as it pressed against the back of my throat. In and out it was thrust, each inward stroke causing me to gag more and more. Eventually, some slime from deep in my belly came up, but it only added to the lubrication just before the slave ejaculated. I felt his penis contract in my mouth, and the strange taste and sensation of the semen flooding out.

The ring gag prevented me from swallowing, so the semen simply remained in my mouth and slowly dripped out over my lips as the next slave positioned himself in front of me. As he entered my mouth, the slave behind climaxed noisily, pressing in deeply, and then pulling out, satiated for the moment. Another slave took his place.

This continued for some time. I was never without something filling me from both ends. Struggling was no use, I was secured tightly on the saw horse, which jabbed uncomfortable along my stomach and chest.

The third slave to enter me from behind was most aggressive, but also reached around and grabbed my erect penis, stroking it to the same rhythm as his penetrations. In moments, I was climaxing myself, and burst out with a huge orgasm. My semen dropped to the dirt below me, forming a small pool, as I continued to be degraded from both ends.

As much humilation and degredation as I had experienced in the recent months, perhaps years... this was still a humiliation to me. Being used in this way made me groan, grunt and cry out. Even when I was pleasured and had my own orgasm, it seemed a tremendous violation as it wasn't really my choice, it was being done to me as part of this mass gang rape. I felt like meat, and in a way it helped to feel like meat, for meat has no emotion, no humiliation.

This went on for the entire day, though it slowed in the late afternoon. My anus and mouth were sore and hurting, my legs crusted with dried semen which had drained from my anus. A large pool had formed below me where my own semen had mixed with that of other slaves which had dripped down, across my scrotum and to the ground.

When I was finally released and returned to my stall, I simply lay there on the straw, unmoving, unable to eat. It was only a sharp shock from the anal shock ring that got me to move and back to work the next day.

Punishment at the farm was swift and painful. There was basically one rule - obey the handlers and don't piss them off. Light punishment was the kiss of the whip. Occassionally, the anal shock ring was activated, causing horrible pain and convulsions which would knock me to the ground for minutes at a time. For more serious infractions, more onerous punishments could be used.

On one occassion after I had disobeyed a handler and taken a drink of water, and even had the audacity to splash the water over my hot sweaty body, I was treated to a common punishment for those who needed to be made an example. After work for the day was completed, I was taken to the center aisle of the barn, between the stalls and shoved down to the ground. My ankles were placed in a metal leg spreader, about four feet apart, wide enough to be painful. The handler pushed me over, bending me at the waist and inserted my wrists in to metal cuffs on the bar next to my ankles. I sat on the ground, bent over severely, arms and legs spread wide and secured.

The two female handlers that managed my barn then attached the metal spreader bar to a chain which hung from the ceiling of the barn. Slowly but surely, the chain was raised in to the air, pulling the bar with it, and eventually my body. I was hung upside down, my legs and arms fastened together on the hard metal spreader, suspended about 6 feet from the ground. There was a tremendous strain on my back and shoulders, as well as the back of my legs. The metal loops in which my ankles and wrists were secured dug painfully in to my skin. My head flopped back, with nothing to support it in my folded position.

Hanging there, I felt a wave of humiliation flood over me. I was on display, legs spread, in pain, there for all to see.

There I stayed... all night, until the next morning the slaves were released from their stalls and walked under me to work in the fields. I had not slept, something that was impossible to do in an inverted position with muscle cramps wracking my body. While they herded the slaves out for work, the handlers would jump as they passed under me, reaching and slapping my exposed testicles, adding to my pain.

The day passed, and I hung there, unable to move, slowly swinging back and forth in my suspension. In the evening, when the slaves returned, there was a comotion below me, and in a moment another chain began raising a female slave to join me in my tortuous punishment. As she reached my height, I recognized #36, an especially tall blonde that was an extremely muscular, good worker. I wondered what she had done to be punished in this way.

As she hung next to me, I tried to talk to her. Initially, she spoke with me, and it was a time when in spite of the pain we were both in, I learned much.

She explained that she had been sent to the farm as a slave because she had signed up for the FSRA II, a new bill that superseded the original legislation. Imprisoned for defending herself with a gun when someone broke in to her house and tried to rape her, she had tried to reduce her 20 year sentence by volunteering for the farm. During my second long night hanging from the ceiling, watching blood trickle down from my shredded wrists and ankles, I also learned that the FSRA II had a clause which allowed recalcitrant insane prisoners to be bound over to permanent slavery to pay for their imprisonment.

My heart sunk, as I realized what had happened. Once in the FSRA system, I had been wedged and prodded until I was driven insane, and then classified and committed as a slave. There was no hope of being released, ever. This was my life, dangling, slowly turning in circles, suspended from the ceiling by a chain while the handlers took liberties with my body.

After 48 hours of suspension, I was brought down, though #36 remained suspended for another two days. I saw her each day as we went to work, her anus and genital area on display for all to see. Blood had streamed down her arms and legs, and she no longer had the strength to keep her head up. My own ankles and wrists took a couple of weeks to heal from the two day ordeal, and my muscles were sore and weak for several days.

I changed a little after my time of mutual torture with #36, in subtle ways. Knowing I had no hope changed me a little. I bided my time, not knowing what to do, until one day, I acted. I acted swiftly, decisively, and as it turned out, foolishly.

The FSRA – Execution

Life flowed at the farm with very little to mark the passage of time. The seasons came and went, but we were someplace close to the equator, so the seasons were not severe. There were no days off. On rare occasions, a new slave would appear, an even worth noting but which made very little difference to our lives. New slaves were likely to cause trouble and bring on punishments. We avoided them.

#11 was a good companion. We were both good workers. And eventually, the inevitable happened. We had been sleeping in the same stall, having sex two or three times a day to relieve my continuing irresistible urges. #11 became pregnant.

She realized it first, and then told me. It changed a few things. I became more protective of her, watching out for her welfare, hiding things that might have brought punishment on her.

Then the incident occurred, the one that would change everything.

We were working at a construction site, moving heavy materials from a truck to a staging area for the construction workers to use. Ankles were chained so we could only take small steps. Wrists were chained so that we had freedom of movement but could not raise arms above our shoulders. As #11 lifted some materials, they slipped, coming down on another slave. The handler came over and started whipping #11, leaving long red stripes of blood along her back, stomach and breasts.

Something inside me snapped. I reached over, and with one swift motion, knocked the handler to the ground and took her whip. I turned it back against her, whipping her several times, shredding her uniform, blood seeping from wounds in the the cloth of her clothes.

I then turned to #11, helped her up, and began running with her. The screams of the handler while I was whipping her brought three or four more, and we made it about 100 yards before my anal shock ring went off, bringing me to the ground. It hit me again, and again, the agony of the shocks rippling through my body repeatedly, until I lost consciousness.

When I awoke, I was back at the farm, chained to a post in the central yard between the barns. All was quiet. The farm was on lockdown.

The effects of the repeated shocks were lingering. The area between my legs was burned and sore. Muscles ached and my mind was dull. I had difficulty moving.

The Doctor, the one that had retrieved me from the sperm milking facility, came out after an hour or so. He had 5 handlers with him. He looked unhappy. They walked over to me, and unchained me. He looked at me sadly, and said “Its too bad. You were a good worker, settling in nicely, with some interesting… attributes.”

With that, the handlers dragged me over to the tall posts that were used for the painful high pressure washing. My wrists and ankles were secured to the ropes, but when the ropes pulled me in to the air, my legs went up first, so that I was hanging spread eagled upside down between the posts. I hung there, dealing with the rush of blood to my head, and the odd feeling of my internal organs weighing down the wrong direction.

In a while, lines of slaves, all chained together in long lines of 20 or more, were brought out and surrounded the posts from which I hung. The chains securing the lines of slaves were in turn locked to concrete posts in the ground, keeping the slaves from moving away from their vantage point where they watched me. I saw #36 at the end of one line, looking at me with tears in her eyes. #11 was nowhere to be seen.

When all the slaves had taken their place, the handler that I had assaulted and whipped came out with one of the high pressure hoses. The hose had a strange attachment. She walked up to me, knelt down and looked at my inverted face, and then spat in it. She stood, and went around to my back. In a moment I felt something long and large being forced in to my anus.

Once in, the device in my anus was inflated, filling my rectum with a huge balloon like bladder that prevented the hose from being removed. Another bladder was inflated, just on the outside of my anus. The effect was to create a very, very tight seal where the hose entered my anus.

I hung there for a while, waiting for whatever would happen. The Doctor walked to the front, addressing the slaves. “For the crime of assault against a handler, and attempting to escape, #6 has been designated for execution by reverse enema. May this serve as a lesson and warning to all who wish to disrupt the natural order.”

As he stepped aside, I felt the water being turned on. It wasn’t high pressure, but steady. At first, I only felt a cool sensation filling my lower abdomen, slowly but surely. It didn’t take long for the water to begin extending past the lower intestines; being upside down helped it penetrate further, and the constant pressure of the water flowing in began to distend my abdomen. Peristalsis cramps began, and I cried out, begging for mercy.

The pain increased, my head was pounding from my inverted position, and my bowels were slowly being enlarged further and further with the water being injected through my anus under pressure. As I cried I looked up and saw that my stomach and abdomen were sticking out further. I was swelling, filled beyond capacity and the pressure of the water was inflating me unnaturally. The stretching of my bowels was agonizing, and I imagined that they might burst at any moment. The pain brought on nausea, which was made worse by my inverted position and I felt my stomach begin to heave, ready to vomit.

Without warning, the pain quickly spread from my abdomen to my stomach area as if some barrier had been broken. The sensation of cold water mixed with burning pain from my horribly stretched digestive tract hit new areas, and new heights of pain. I screamed, but moments later, let out a huge belch. I had never belched like that before, and it scared me horribly as it was clear the water was making its way through my bowels and forcing gases up and out through my throat.

The nausea increased steadily, and I vomited. The vomit sprayed from my mouth, hard and painfully. But then, as the vomiting decreased, the acidic liquid drained down in to my nose from both inside and outside. My sinuses filled with burning stomach acid, I coughed and vomited at the same time, and for a while I believed I might die of asphyxiation from my own puke.

I managed to look up at my body, and saw it distended as if I were pregnant. My screaming had stopped because I was too busy vomiting, and when I wasn’t vomiting I was coughing and trying not to die from asphyxiation. The nausea came in waves, the vomit continued, on and on, longer than I ever though possible. The contractions of my stomach, forcing the vomit out, were causing even more severe pain in my bowels.

I prayed for death.

In between waves of vomit, I screamed. And then vomited again. Eventually, the vomit took on a different quality. The taste became even more foul, if that was possible. It tasted of blood and shit. I even felt chunks of shit forced through my stomach, which was in turn vomited out. The water continued filling my bowels from above, forcing the contents of my entire digestive tract out of my mouth. I knew my stomach would rip at any moment, if it hadn’t already. It truly felt as if some part of my bowels had been ruptured, and the inner cavity of my stomach filled with filthy feces. I would die soon from blood loss or sepsis… or shock…

I don’t remember how long I hung there, upside down, vomiting my guts out, but there came a time when I could taste that the vomit was no longer as foul. No chunks of feces, no brown tainted water…

The water pressure was turned off. The bladders securing the hose in my anus were deflated and removed. Several gallons of water continued to make its way though my bowels, and I continued to vomit.

The ropes were released and I fell to the ground, laying in a huge pool of feces filled vomit, which I added to by spewing putrid water out both ends of my body until the world went black, my last memory images of the slaves watching my tortured demise with horror.

The FSRA - Training

The world was filled with pain, and nothing else. I floated in a sea of pain which started inside my body, and radiated outward, ripping through my head and extremities. There was a noise someplace, a moaning, a screaming, or crying.

Finally, the noise stopped, and I floated away in to darkness and became completely unaware once again.

The pain brought me back with a jolt. My eyes opened to a blinding light, which in turn made the pain in my head worse. I squeezed my eyes shut, and squeezed some tears out the corners at the same time.

As I lay motionless, slowing regaining my sense of reality, I began to remember, and then inventory and evaluate my situation. I was alive, not dead. I was aware, and able to think. There was significant pain in my body, my entire body, but it wasn’t as bad as the floating pain I remembered from before. I was laying on my back.

And I was strapped down, unable to move.

Huh. Big deal. It was almost normal to me, to be bound and restrained, unable to move. Slowly, my eyes became accustomed to the bright light, and I explored my environment. I was strapped to a bed, in a white room. The bed was more of a metal table with a thin pad on it. There was an IV stuck in my left arm. The room looked like a hospital room, except it had no windows, and the walls looked like a painted concrete.

After some time, the door opened, and the doctor entered. He examined me, and for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, I realized I did not have an erection. I was flaccid. While most of my body hurt, my genitalia did not. I lowered my head and rested, wondering what was going on.

The Doctor explained. “You didn’t die. Most do, you didn’t, though you came close. But, as far as the rest of the world is concerned, you are dead. A non-person. Gone. Perfect for the underground slave market. You are being fixed up for that, and as soon as you are healthy enough, you will be sold.”

He injected something in to me, and I began to drift. Before I lost consciousness, I heard him say “It will be a loss… you were unique. The cash will make up for it though…”

Over the next few days, I became healthier. The IV rehydrated me, and antibiotics kept the damage to my system from becoming infected. I healed and regained strength. The hardest part was eating. My digestive system had been so damaged from the reverse enema that I could only eat very mild proteins, predigested and mushed. Dog food, basically.

When I was healthy enough, I was placed on an exercise program.

And so began another phase of misery in my life under the FSRA. My trainer was a young woman, barely 19, with long auburn hair that was typically tied back in a pony tail. She was short, about 5?1?, with a sinuous, lithe body that I am sure turned heads on the street. Her breasts were not large, but perfectly proportioned for her small frame. Her young face appeared as a mask covering a rock hard personality inside.

Her dominance was established during the first session, when I was placed on a treadmill. My wrists were chained to the sides, and I stood waiting for the exercise to begin. I was weak from inactivity, but she turned on the machine and pushed me hard. I was sweating and straining to keep up within a minute. When I began to lag, she produced a cattle prod. One jab from that made me catch up to the pace of the treadmill, which kept increasing its angle and speed automatically.

She loved snapping me with that prod, and she began playing with pushing it between my legs as I ran in place. She was trying to get the contact against my testicles. I squeezed my legs together as best I could and continued running. I was gasping, panting, exhausted and unable to keep up, and when she managed to get the probe to fire on my left testicle, the sudden pain made me lose my balance. I fell and the treadmill carried me back, but my secured wrists jerked me to a stop. The rotating platform of the treadmill scraped against my stomach, shredding flesh as I tried to climb back up.

The trainer straddled me, and pressed down on my head with her foot, grinding it against the running treadmill. I yelled, begged, and tried to get up only to feel the probe shoved between my buttocks to my anus, and then a searing pain as it fired again. I collapsed, the treadmill dragging on my stomach and chest.

She turned the treadmill off, unstrapped my wrists, and kicked me over on my back. She straddled over me again, looking at me with contempt, took the cattle prod and shoved it under my nose. The shock almost knocked me out.

When I regained my ability to focus, I was strapped to a narrow bench, facing up. Above me was a heavy barbell weight, suspended by a rope. The rope went up to a pulley with a latch, and the trainer was just attaching the other end of the rope to my testicles.

Once attached, she warned me that I had better hold the barbell up, as she was going to release its latch. I grabbed it just as she released it, but the sudden weight was more than I could handle. It plunged down, and my testicles were jerked up in the air. I screamed in pain, raising my hips in response to the yank, and then slowly struggled to get the barbell up in the air. As I did, the pressure on my testicles slowly diminished. With my arms extended, my testicles were back in place, but the weight was simply too much for me. My arms shook, straining, and the weight overcame me. The barbell fell on to my chest, bruising me, though that was the least of my problems.

My hips shot up in the air again, as high as they could go, but it was not enough. I felt as if my testicles were being ripped from my body, and I screamed. The trainer leaned over, looking at my agonized face, and actually kissed my cheek as she ran a hand under my back and over my buttocks, feeling my muscles strain to preserve my manhood.

This trainer, a 19 year old cheerleading bitch, was loving my pain. Feeding on my agony.

I pressed hard on the barbell, slowly getting it back up again. My testicles were still in agony, and I kept the barbell up as long as I could.

This cycle went on for a while. Up… pain relief, but muscles giving out gave way to sudden agony. After a long, long time, she cut the rope with one slice of a knife. I dropped the barbell on my chest, and it fell off to the side. I began crying, sobbing… as she unstrapped me and dragged me back to my cell. As the heavy door closed, I could hear her laughing… and promising better the next day.

This went on for several weeks. The trainer would come and take me to a training room. I was forced to work and when I did not achieve, the result was punishment.

One of the most terrifying experiments she imposed on me was when I was forced to hang on to a horizontal bar, with a noose around my neck. As long as I kept myself up, the noose was nothing. As I lost strength, I would lower, and struggle to keep myself up and the noose from tightening around my neck. Eventually, of course, my arms gave out and I slipped. The noose jerked tight around my neck, and my hands went up to the rope, clawing and trying to relieve the horrible choking pressure. I was able to pull myself up a little, but my arms were already exhausted, and slipped once again. I remember losing bladder and bowel control as my tongue protruded from my mouth, swinging slowly as the world began to fade in black patches. The last thing I remember was the trainers breasts pushed in my purple face of agony as she stood on a ladder, reaching up to cut me down.

My lovely trainer would sometimes come to my cell in the evening, and take me out and force me to worship her. She could make me do anything as I knew she was capable of any sadism, and I did whatever she wanted.

One evening she dragged me out, and forced me to lay on her lap, face up, as she took small pins and stuck them in my testicles and penis, making patterns. At the end of the evening my throat was hoarse from screaming. She slowly removed each pin, then took an alcohol swab and wiped my genitals down, as I cried out pitifully.

As my health and strength returned, so did my erection. It had gone for only a while, but whatever had been done to me at the sperm milking farm was still in my system, and my member was constantly swollen and engorged. I think the trainer would have liked to have cut it off, but she knew better than to permanently mutilate me in that way. A mutilated slave would not bring nearly as much at the slave market.

At last the day came, perhaps six weeks later, when the doctor visited me. I had been hung upside down by the trainer, who had been experimenting with how much sperm she could get out of me by jerking me off, while I tried to keep from swinging back in to a series of spikes that projected into my back from behind, essentially forcing me to do crunches or have the skin of my back torn to shreds. My 10th or 11th orgasm was just fading and I was feeling the sharp points drawing blood behind me when I saw the face of the doctor, upside down before me.

“Well, my boy. I see Anna has been doing a great job. You look truly fit. You will be a great draw at market tomorrow. Yes… that’s right! Tomorrow! I think you are ready! Are you excited?”

In response I simply yelped as a spike scraped across my waist.

I hoped and prayed that I would be sold the next day. Anything was better than the hellhole that “Anna” had created for me.

The FSRA - Auction

The next morning the door to my concrete cell opened and two large guards came in. One of them carried a long heavy pole about seven feet long with holes drilled through it every foot or so. They threw me on the ground and rolled my on my stomach. One guard placed a knee in the back of my neck, holding me down, as the other tied my hands behind my back, and then to a hole in the pole.

My elbows were pulled together behind my back as well, and tied to the pole. Straps were then placed around my neck, waist, knees and ankles, each passed through another hole in the pole. I was very simply but effectively bound straight up along the pole, unable to move.

The guards left and my trainer, Anna, came in. She rolled me over on to my back. She had never looked more beautiful, her lithe figure barely hidden under a tennis outfit of some sort. Her hair, which was normally in a pony tail as she tortured and exercised me, was down, flowing over her shoulders.

“Open your mouth,” she ordered. I obeyed, and she slipped a ring gag in, holding my jaw wide open.

She then did the most remarkable thing. She straddled me, at my hips. My constant erection grew harder than ever as she slowly began sliding her panty covered vulva over my penis. I could feel moister, her panties were wet, and in a moment she slipped them to the side. Her hand took my penis and guided it to her vaginal lips, and in a moment I was sliding in to her. She was tight, and young, and began riding me with a passion I had not experienced in a long, long time. I orgasmed before she did, spurting semen in to her in huge amounts. But my erection did not subside, and the feeling of her flesh stroking and sliding against my penis was enough to bring a second orgasm to me a few minutes later.

Her own heavy breathing and moans indicated she was approaching climax. She heaved up and down on top of me harder and more urgently, until I felt the muscles of her vaginal walls contract, her thighs gripping mine, and she cried out as an orgasm took her.

I could have orgasmed again, but she was done, and pulled off of me immediately. I could see some of my semen trickling down her inner thigh, and she could feel it to. She reached down, wiped it up with her fingers, and stared at it with disgust.

“You sickening beast! How dare you mess me in this way?” She took the semen from her fingers, and wiped them on my wide open mouth. My own semen settled in my mouth, but because of the ring gag it was very difficult to swallow. It simply remained there, tasting salty and metallic.

Before she left, Anna looked me in my face for a moment, then drew her hand back and swung it down hard to the side of my face, slapping me with a force that almost knocked me unconscious. By the time the shock had passed, Anna was walking through the door and the last glimpse I had of her was her pert ass and long legs as she turned down the hall.

I lay on the floor, tied securely to the long pole, waiting. After a half hour or so, the two guards came in, and picked up the pole between them. They were talking about Anna and how gorgeous she was. As I swung from the pole as they carried me down the hall, I listened to them.

“They say she is one of the best fucks around.”

“Yeah, but she won’t fuck anyone that she hasn’t completely dominated, and that ain’t no fun.”

“Fuck, no. I bet she fucked this one here, but look at what she has done to him for the last few weeks. Not worth it.”

“Still… I wouldn’t mind getting her alone someplace and dominating her a little myself!”

They both laughed at the idea.

I was carried outside, to a parking lot. Several cars were there, and a large van with its rear doors open. I could see it was already filled with several other slaves, naked and tied to poles in much the same way as I and dumped on the floor of the back. I was maneuvered through the rear doors, and then dumped on top of the others like a piece of meat. The two slaves I landed on top of both grunted in pain from the impact, as did I.

In moments, the van doors were closed, and the two guards climbed in to the front, and the van began driving. It was hot in the back, and there were a total of about 10 slaves piled two deep. Fortunately, I was in the top layer, with two women underneath me. None of us were able to move, though the movement and bumping from the driving van caused constant rubbing and shifting of our bodies.

It was unavoidable. Face down as I was, my erection was rubbing on the thigh of one of the girls below me. My urges had not subsided, and I began pressing and humping her leg as much as I could with the small amount of movement afforded me by my bonds. When she realized what was happening, the girl, who was also wearing a ring gag, made a loud noise of protest. But there was nothing I could do, the movement of the van was causing me to rub her leg, and neither of us could separate. Moments later I orgasmed for a third time that morning, ejaculating a large amount of creamy white sperm on to her leg and hips.

The rest of the trip was mostly uneventful. It took about two hours to drive to where ever we were going, and in that time several of the slaves had to relieve themselves, urinating in the van. I urinated on the two girls below me, which drew more inarticulate noises of protest, but again there was little I could do.

When we arrived at our destination, the doors were opened, and the two guards made comments about how the slaves were like animals, and smelled like animals. When I was removed from the pile, they saw the dried semen covering the girl below me and made more comments about just how disgusting we slaves were.

One by one we were carried in to a large building through a loading dock. Stacked along the back of what looked like a backstage area, we silently awaited whatever happened next.

Two guards came over and lifted one of the other male slaves by his pole and carried him across the stage area. The dumped him on the floor, and quickly cut his bonds, and just as quickly retied him to some other object laying on the floor. Once secured, he was lifted up and I could see that he had been tied to a heavy wooden cross.

The guards dragged the cross a foot or two until they reached a square hole in the stage. The cross was pushed up erect with the slave’s back to us, and it slid down a foot or so into its socket with a loud thump. As it thudded down, I could see the slave’s body jerk down as he hung by his arms, and he let out a loud groan. He hung there, tied securely to the cross, crucified for all to see, motionless.

The next to be hauled over was the young female slave that had my crusted semen all over her thighs. As she was untied from her pole, she struggled, and began crying out, begging for mercy. She was terrified by the concept of crucifixion, the prospect of the horrible torture of being hung on a cross had driven her hysterical. It didn’t help, in moments she was tied securely, and with a loud thump her cross was in place. She screamed briefly when the cross first jerked her body down, but then settled in to coping with the pain that must have extended across her stretched shoulders.

One by one, each of the slaves was crucified. When they came to me, I was nervous, scared of what might happen. At the same time, I wasn’t worried too much. While the experience might be painful, I had been through a lot of torture in the last few years and I knew they would not allow significant damage to our bodies. We were being put on display for buyers, not executed.

The guards sliced my ropes and tied my arms to the cross efficiently. The bonds and knots were as tight as any I had ever experienced, these guys knew what they were doing. My legs were bent slightly, and ankles tied to the upright just as tightly. The cross was slid over to a hole in the stage, and I felt myself being lifted up. At the last moment, just as I was straight up, I dropped a foot down and jerked to a stop.

The pain of that one foot drop was worse than I had imagined it would be. My entire body weight was jerked down on my shoulders and arms. The pain pulled out an involuntary cry, and I writhed, attempting to find a better position to compensate for the weight causing cramps in my shoulders. I quickly learned there was no other position. The best I could do was use the ankle ropes to help push my body up to get some relief, which I did. But the extremely tight ropes cut in to my ankles, and soon I had lowered myself down, hanging by my arms once again. As I lowered myself, my legs spread apart exposing my constant erection.

The last two slaves were mounted on their crosses, and we all hung in a row, waiting to be examined and bid on by the slave buyers. We hung there, quiet and unmoving on our crosses, except for an occasional moan and the periodic attempt to lift ourselves up to relieve the pain in our shoulders and chests.

After about an hour, the buyers were finally ushered in, led by a businessman that spoke quickly. They stopped in front of the first cross (several down from me) and the bidding began.

“Here gentlemen (and ladies) we have the first lot of the day. A male slave, about 20 years old, in good condition and healthy. Feel free to examine him in any way you like, the ring gag will allow examination of teeth, a well known indicator of slave condition as you know. This slave is suitable for a wide variety of activities, to satisfy your every whim or to work out of sight as a productive member of any household. Now, lets start the bidding at $10,000…”

And so the bidding began. The first slave was sold for $25,000. I had no idea if this was a lot or not, and frankly I didn’t care as the strain of the cross was beginning to get to me. I was lifting myself up more, trying to stand to relieve the pressure on my chest that not only hurt badly, but was making breathing more difficult as time went on.

The woman next to me was bid on. She was examined closely for health, I could see one of the men examining her pelvic and vaginal areas in detail. I heard her described as a breeder, and wondered briefly what they could be breeding. Had things deteriorated that much in the country, that they were allowing the breeding of slaves? She sold for $40,000.

My turn was next. I was pushed up on my ankle bonds, my back arched, trying to gasp for some breath when the crowd came to my cross. Hands began exploring my body, but I could not react, I was concentrating on breathing and staying up. As the auctioneer began talking about me, I collapsed and let out a soft cry of pain from the renewed strain on my back, chest and diaphragm.

“Here we have lot #6, a male approximately 28 years old, in very good shape as you can see from his muscles when he strains for position on the cross. He is healthy, completely intact, and well trained. Some of you have noticed he has an erection; I can assure you this is nearly permanent. He is a survivor from the Mojave Sperm Milking Facility, and is capable not only of maintaining this erection at all times, but of producing copious amounts of high quality sperm.”

There was a murmur of interest at this, and the auctioneer continued. “Yes, this is one of the few survivors from that debacle in the desert, and is truly unique. I would like to call on my assistant to demonstrate this slave’s remarkable abilities. Jackie?”

A young woman stepped forward, took my penis in hand and shoved it all the way down her throat. This was no small accomplishment, as I was a full 9? when erect. The contrast between the pain in my upper body and the pleasure she gave me in my loins was stark. I thrust my hips, penetrating deep down her throat, until she withdrew and continued with her hands.

Before long I felt my fourth orgasm of the day spreading over me, and semen spurted out several feet from me. The crowd of observers pulled back, but not in time for one woman who found her silk blouse covered with my sperm. I observed the effects of my ejaculation afterward, as I was too enraptured by my orgasm when it happened.

“And so you see the remarkable performance of this man. Please also note that following this ejaculation he is still erect, and ready to perform again. Does anyone wish a demonstration?”

“No!” came the word from the young lady with stained silk blouse.

“Very well then, bidding begins at $20,000, who will open?”

Bidding began, and I slumped down on the cross, losing strength to keep myself up. Bidding seemed to last a long time, and when it was done, I heard “SOLD! To Miss Cynthia Hykes for $80,000!” There was applause, and I noted that the young lady with a stain on her blouse had a look of evil satisfaction on her face.

The assistant took out a black marker, and wrote something on my side.

The crowd moved on to the next slave, though Miss Cynthia Hykes lingered for a moment to run her fingers down my straining chest to my stomach and finally my erection, sliding along it and then gripping my testicles in hand. She squeezed once, hard, producing an additional gasp of pain from me, and then moved on with the others.

We had been on the crosses for four hours or so before all the activities ended and we were finally cut down. I had begun to see how someone could die suspended from that evil instrument, and was shaking as my new owner came over and said to the guards “Hog tie him. In the severe position.”

The guards, after cutting me down, took a rope and placed it behind my knees. My legs were each folded back over the rope and frog tied, ankle to thigh. The rope extending from behind my knees was used to secure my wrists to my knees behind my back. This bent me back in a severely painful position with my back arched to almost breaking. A pole was produced, inserted under my tied arms and I was lifted up, whimpering in pain, and carried to a large car. I was unceremoniously dumped in the trunk and lay there in pain from my bent-backwards position, unable to move.

Moments later the girl who had been crucified next to me, the one described as a “breeder” was dumped on top of me. Her bindings were not as tight or painful as mine, she was able to struggle a little to move over and get off of me. Just as she stopped moving, facing me on the side of the trunk, the trunk lid was closed heavily and darkness descended.

The FSRA – Slave

The pain in my back, arms and legs was excruciating, bent back in an inverted “O”. My new owner was getting revenge for my soiling her blouse, however unintentional and beyond my control it was. The darkness of the car trunk was complete, though there was constant movement as we wove through traffic and finally began moving on a highway.

The girl in the trunk with me, the breeder, was breathing heavily, but kept silent. She had obviously been trained, and lay quietly in the trunk. Our legs touched, but that was all. It was hot, humid and sweaty in the darkness, and I could smell her body, close to mine. My constant erection seemed to seek her out in the darkness, wanting to touch her flesh, but was not rewarded. It strained to no avail.

As we drove, I thought about something that the auctioneer had said… that I was 28. Could he have been right? I was barely 20 when I signed myself over to the FSRA in prison. Had it been 8 years? I couldn’t remember, the time at the sperm milking facility was a blur, and the years at the farm were vague as well.

The car eventually turned off the highway, and drove through country roads, slowing and making several turns. It eventually drove on a gravel or dirt surface and then stopped. The doors opened, though the trunk stayed closed. Instructions could be heard being given to servants, though I could hear nothing of what was said.

I was moaning in pain when the trunk lid was suddenly opened, and light poured in, blinding me. I shut the light out, squeezing eyes shut as strong hands pulled me up and out of the trunk. The stress on my back and shoulders increased suddenly as they moved me and I screamed through my ring gag. I opened my eyes to see a large estate home nestled in woods. I was carried to a side door, which had stairs leading down, obviously to a basement.

Once inside, I was dumped on the floor of a small cell, about 3 feet wide by 8 feet long. It stunk of feces, urine and something else I couldn’t identify. My bonds were removed and my body slowly extended itself, relieving the cramping and reseting joints to their proper position. Moments later, I was fed, some grey and brown slop which appeared to be something like pureed leftovers. It didn’t taste bad, and the water was clean, and I fell asleep to the sound of the other new slave being dumped in a cell next to mine.

Waking early the next morning, I took the opportunity to examine my new cell. It was made of a rough stone, though the stones and cement between them appeared to be new. The heavy wooden door had several small slots in it, all closed. A small amount of light shown through a small slit high in the back wall. This place was new, an estate that had been built, or at least remodeled, with the idea of holding human slaves such as myself.

I cringed against the back wall when the door was unlocked and opened. Two large men entered, dressed as caretakers of the estate, and took me by my arms and dragged me to another room, much larger than the first. I had been a prisoner long enough that I recognized this room as a dungeon, or torture chamber. Iron, rope and other implements hung about me as I was secured to a post in the middle of the room. There I waited, standing naked and cold, arms extended above my head, wondering what might happen next.

Exhaustion was beginning to come over me as as I sagged against the post for support, nearly three hours later. Mistress Cynthia came in to the room, and examined my body in detail, paying special attention to my constant, huge erection. As she performed her examination she amused herself with a random needle insertion, twist of a nipple, or squeeze of a testicle. She obviously enjoyed hurting me. That’s what I was there for.

She stepped away, and I saw her reaching for a flogger on the wall. It was a heavy one, with thin leather strips designed to cut, and knots in the strips designed to cut chunks of flesh. I turned my face to the post and tensed, waiting the first stroke.

I could hear it coming, as she grunted with effort and there was a brief sound as the leather whistled through the air before my back exploded in a stinging pain. Barely getting out my first scream, the lashes cut in to my back again, and again… Each strand of leather kissed my bare flesh with pain, leaving a line of red and taking small chunks out where knots pulled against my skin. Across my back, around the curve of my side and ribs the strokes went. Down to my buttocks, and thighs, leaving the burning pain as each stroke was followed by another. I counted twelve strokes in all. My back and buttocks were on fire, and I hung from my arms on the post, no longer able to stand.

Mistress Cynthia came around to face me, and I looked up at her amused face. She was sweating from the exertion of my whipping, her face and bare shoulders glistening as she leaned down and kissed my lips lovingly. She then turned and left, dropping the flogger on a table as she went out the door.

I hung from the post for a while, not thinking. A caretaker came in after a while, and splashed a bucket of water on my sweaty and blood streaked flesh. I screamed, for the water had been salted, heavily. The salt might help my wounds heal but it stung like hell. The caretaker unchained me and led me out of the basement, and tethered the chain to a heavy post in a beautiful garden. His instructions - to weed the garden, which my chain would allow me to reach.

The sun was high, and I was dehydrating quickly, sweat trickling down my body everywhere. But I knew this mistress was cruel, and a cruel punishment awaited me if I did not perform satisfactorily. I dug with my fingers, clawing up weeds and piling them in a bucket that had been left. My fingers were raw and bleeding when I finished and went back to see if I had missed anything. The caretaker returned, reviewed my work, and nodded. He didn’t care about punishing me, he just wanted his work done.

Unchained from the post, I was led back to my cell in the basement. The caretaker seemed curious about my constant huge erection, and when my chain was secured to a ring on the wall of my cell, he ventured to touch it. As usual, it throbbed, ready to ejaculate at any provocation. His hand pulled back quickly, and he laughed nervously. The door slammed behind him.

An hour later food was provided through a door slot. The same leftover slop as the day before.

That evening, the door to my cell was opened, and I was removed, and moved in to the next cell, where the girl slave, the breeder, was kept. The door once again slammed shut. The cells were small enough there was no room for the two of us to sit without touching, and so we faced each other, legs intertwined. My penis was pointing toward her, about 12 inches away and slowly pulsing as if straining to cross the gap. It was, in a way, she was a lovely girl, young and shapely. Her hair was long and smooth, though it needed to be washed, and her eyes were greenish-gray, darting about and then slowly closing as she relaxed once again after my arrival.

We both knew why we were there, she as well as I. She was the breeding stock, I the stud. There was little I could do about it, my body had been medicated to the point where I was permanently aroused and could hardly stop myself. My hips slid toward her, her legs stretched and sliding over my thighs, our sweat mingling. She slid right up easily, until she was sitting on top of my thighs and my penis entered her smoothly. It felt so good, having a woman’s body wrapped around my erection, and as she began sliding up and down on it I felt an orgasm building inside.

The first time she rode me. The second time she rode me as my arms surrounded her and held her body against me, slippery with sweat from the heat. The third time she lay on the ground, legs around my hips, back arched, gasping and straining to reach her own orgasm.

So it went, repeatedly throughout the night. At times we rested in each others arms, others we slept, only to wake and satisfy ourselves again. She was the most sturdy, resilient, insatiable woman I had ever known, but when the morning light reached us, she lay exhausted and my erection remained, ready to perform again.

She spoke to me then, admitting that she had never had a man like me before, that she was known by some as a nymphomaniac, never satisfied. Satisfied for the first time in her life, she wrapped her arms around me and cried, just a little. When they came to take me away, she clung to me for a moment before I was yanked out of the cell.

For several weeks, this was the pattern - work in the hot sun, return to my cell, and later placed in the common cell with the girl whose only name was Breeder. I worked hard, and there was little punishment, for my work was appreciated by the caretakers. The one caretaker who had been interested in my erection showed interest a few more times, once even to the point of bringing me to an orgasm and watching me spurt a load of semen on the wall next to him. I suspected he had more than casual interest in me and my body, but it never went further.

Evenings with the Breeder were wonderful, pleasurable, and exhausting. She came the closest of any woman I had ever known to satisfying me. The constant, unrelenting orgasms I had with her seemed to flow one in to another, continuing for hours. She was able to keep me going, and keep herself going until we both lay dehydrated and exhausted 6, 8, or 12 hours later.

One day she spoke to me and told me that she was pregnant. I don’t think I was surprised, as it had been clear we were put together to breed like animals. But I was curious about her sadness.

She explained that she had been fed heavy doses of fertility drugs. She was sure she was pregnant with multiple children, but that she was not sure she would survive the birthing process. She also knew that she would no longer be with me. Her hand caressed my cheek as she said this, and I became sad as well, holding her tightly in our dark cell.

The next day she was removed from her cell, and not returned. I was upset, dejected, and found it difficult to work. After several whippings over the next few days, I began to rebel, not knowing what I hoped to accomplish but expressing my animal frustration at having yet another mate taken from me.

One day I was not removed from my cell for work. The next day I remained in my cell. After three days I was agitated and began pounding on the walls, yanking on my neck chain and trying to break free (however useless the attempt might have been).  On the fourth day, my cell door opened, three caretakers came in and removed me kicking and screaming, dragging me to the large workroom in the basement. Mistress Cynthia was there, the first I had seen her since the day of my arrival and the whipping she had personally delivered.

There was a metal table in the center of the room. I was taken to it, and fastened down securely by my wrists and ankles. Mistress Cynthia came to me, caressed my cheek in a horrible parody of the Breeder’s caress. She then said something that chilled me to my bones.

“I have never liked you much, but while you were a good worker I could see your use. You no longer have much use, do you? I have decided on a new use for you. You shall became art.  Art which will fit in nicely with my home decor.”

My eyes grew wide in fear as she motioned and the caretakers rolled a table to my side, filled with instruments of unknown use, some with blades, saws, things that looked like ice picks, a medical device with hoses and tubes, and a very large syringe.

I whimpered and finally screamed in fear as the syringe was driven home, injecting some unknown substance in to my body.

The FSRA - Art

The needle penetrated my arm, and I felt a panic and struggled against my restraints although I knew there was nothing I could do. I imagined that they were killing me, or were going to modify my body, cut parts off or doing something horrible like that. Little did I realize what was going to happen.

After a minute or two, I felt myself relaxing. It was the oddest sensation, my muscles simply gave out, and went limp. I didn't feel relaxed mentally, but I found it harder and harder to struggle against my restraints. I gave up and simply lay there, letting the drug take effect in my body.

In another minute, I realized that I was not relaxed. I was paralyzed. I was trying to move, but couldn't. My mind was telling my arms and legs to move, but there was almost no response. The paralysis was so complete, I could not scream, or make a noise. My eyes stopped moving, and my mouth hung open.

And then my breathing stopped. The paralysis had effected my lungs and I was suffocating, laying there on the metal table. The panic in my mind was complete, inside my head I screamed and screamed as I tried to draw a breath but could not.

A tube was produced and shoved down my throat. Just as I was about to pass out from lack of breath, a machine started pumping air in to my lungs, breathing for me. I had been placed on a resperator, which was now in control of my breathing.

I had never felt so helpless in my life. Even when crucified, or hung upside down with water pumping in to me, or any of the other horrible tortures I had experienced, I had been able to scream. Now, I simply lay there. Paniced, screaming, struggling, straining against the restraints - but all in my head. My body lay quietly and accepted the actions of my mistress and her assistants.

My entire body was smeared with a cream. It was clearly a depilatory, removing all hair from my toes to the top of my head. This was washed off with a sprayer, water and cream and my hair all running down the drain in the metal table on which I lay motionless.

I was then oiled with some heavy clear liquid, which was smeared on all my exposed skin, including my face, genitals, feet... between and under jointed and fingers... everywhere.

The resperator made a slow, steady click - hiss - click - hiss noise as my chest rose and fell with the air pumped in. This was the only movement in my body. I was unable to even move my eyes, and stared at the ceiling or whatever was in front of me at the time.

My body was manipulated and placed in an odd position, with my knees bent all the way, legs spread, and my arms up, hands behind my head. Cardboard was placed around my genitals, a large tube was shoved up my anus, and small tubes inserted in to my nostrils.

Then came the plastic.

A large metal container, almost like an oxygen or helium tank, was brought over to the table. A hose extended from it, and Mistress Cynthia took it, and pressed a release on the end. A thick, steady flow of a clear hot liquid was poured over my feet, then up my legs, over my knees and around my hips. Some of the liquid ran down to the metal table on which I lay, but much of it stayed on my skin as a coating. The cardboard around my genitals prevented the plastic from covering my penis and testicles, and the tube in my anus ran out through the plastic around my buttocks.

I heard Mistress Cynthia tell one of her assistants "OK, pump him up for a bit."

The respirator was stopped, just as my lungs were filled with air and my chest and abdomen were distended. The hot plastic flowed, covering my stomach, and then chest, and up to my shoulders. As this took several minutes I was desperate for air, and in my mind begged for the machine to be turned on again so that I could breath. I saw spots in my vision.... I could no longer stay conscious. Things were turning black.

I felt a sudden sense of well being, and began drifting in darkness, and there was a light, a comforting light...

The respirator was turned on again, and the air slowly brought me back to consciousness. I had not been out for more than a minute or so, but I was sure I had been near death. Still completely unable to move anything, I lay there letting oxygen flow through my body, as the last bits of thick hot plastic covered my neck, face and neck.

The viscous liquid began hardening quickly, but I was able to breath under the sheet of semi-hard plastic which covered my chest area. Expanding my chest area with air earlier had assured there would be enough room for me to breathe.

I was left on the table for a while, simply breathing. The plastic hardened. I stared at the ceiling, slowly realizing that I had been completely encased in a plastic coating.

Art - this was what I had become. An unmoving statue, a human, living thing which simply lay on the table for all to see and admire. But never to move, not even an inch. The plastic casing was form fitted to my skin, preventing any movement except for breathing.

A hair dryer was produced, and the hot air covered my plastic prison. Later, it became clear this process helped smooth the outside of the plastic, making it mold evenly and clear so that the appearance of the "art" would be unmarred by bumps and bubbles.

I felt muscle control coming back. My breathing slowly became more erratic, as I stressed to push against the respirator. The tube was removed from my throat and I breathed on my own, with some difficulty. I tried to scream, but was unable, all that came out was a slight whimper - my throat was sore from the tube, and there was not enough room in the plastic case to take a deep breath.

My eyes darted around the room. I saw Mistress Cynthia cleaning up the materials that had been used. Her helpers waited and acted on her orders efficiently. I was ignored. After a while, everyone left the room and I lay staring at the ceiling, trying to get muscles to move again and unable to tell whether the drug was still preventing my muscles from flexing, or if the plastic was holding me so tightly it didn't matter.

It didn't matter. I could not move.

I could cry though, and I did.

Darkness descended, and I lay unable to move even a finger. The sense of complete helplessness, of paralysis without loss of muscle control, the claustrophobia... it overwhelmed me and I screamed as best I could. The sound was absorbed by the brick walls of the dungeon. I was in a strange position, with my legs bent as far as they could at the knee, the knees spread wide exposing my genitalia, and my hands placed behind my head as if I were relaxing, laying in the grass looking at clouds.

As the sun was brightening in the small high window the next morning, some groundskeepers came to my dungeon. The remove the tube from my anus, and the cardboard from my genitals. The small tubes were removed from my nostrils. I could breath through the mouth opening or my nose, and would be able to urinate and defecate. I could see. But these were about the only things that I would be allowed to do.

My stiff form was lifted up, and set on a cart in a kneeling position. My toes and knees supported my frame, and I realized for the first time that I was permanently frozen in the classic submissive slave position - kneeling, legs wide, with hands behind head.

I was rolled upstairs, in to the main living areas of the mansion. It was opulant, furnished well, beautiful, and spacious. I rolled down a hall and in to a large room that looked something like a casual living area, though there were many cushions, several couches and comfortable chairs spread around, as well as a large flat screen television hanging from the wall. I was lifted up, and set in an empty space in the center of one wall.

A metal pan was placed below me, between my legs. To catch whatever body fluids and waste might be emitted from me, I presumed.

The caretakers left, and I remained in the well lighted room, not moving, though my muscles strained and pressed as best they could. The plastic, while thin and clear, was as hard as rock.

My mind was going... I could feel it. The panic which had never quite left me had returned. I was trapped. Buried alive. Unable to move a muscle. Encased and placed on display in this room, for all to see, but unable to move.

I cried out again, a slow mournful wail, but this time I was answered by a hiss. Something else was in the room! My eyes darted around, examining the furnishings.

Then I saw...

Three other art works. Just like me. Two females and a male. Placed in the center of all four walls. All encased and unable to move, just like me.

But the female nearest me was talking, in a low, muffled voice. Her jaw could move very slightly in the space left for her mouth opening.

"Shhhh.... she doesn't allow art to make noise. She will come in and punish us all if she hears!"

My eyes focused on the talking artwork. She looked like she was about 20, short blond hair encased in the plastic covering, a perfect body with thin waist, breasts perfectly formed and held in the perfect position by the plastic encasement. Her legs were thin but looked muscular. The sight of her made me remember my constant erection, which was raging free, throbbing slightly.

"How long have you been here?" I whispered.

Breathing and talking seemed to come hard for her. Her answer came in low gasps. "A week... Its horrible... I thought I was going to go insane... I still wonder if I am... We are fed, and she uses the room sometimes... with her friends... otherwise we are just statues to admire..."

The other male, directly to my left, said nothing... but in the quiet room I could hear him wheezing. It didn't sound good.

"What is your name?" I ventured after a moment.

"I can't remember... I can't remember... I think it was Anna... Dave there... he isn't well off... he has been here longer than me... he is getting weak..."

Every few minutes one of us would venture to say something. It was difficult talking, we had to keep voices low, and none of us were able to keep the breath or the strength going for long. The other girl in the room, a brunette, did not speak English. So, Anna and I talked a little.

Dave urinated into his pan. I wished I could have, but I had not had anything to drink in 24 hours. In the evening, as the sun set, a caretaker came in, replaced our pans with clean ones and then left.

An hour later, the same caretaker came in with a cart. The cart had four large bottles on it, that looked like baby bottles. They were filled with a brownish liquid. He took the first bottle, placed it in a bracket which then went over my head and positioned the bottle with the nipple in my mouth. I suckled the nipple with gusto, I was starved, and thirsty. As I pulled the stream of sustenance from the bottle, the others were given similar bottles. We all suckled and fed, except for Dave, who took small sips, but seamed too weak to drink the entire bottle.

This was my life as art... unable to move, on display.

Mistress Cynthia came in to the room on occasion and would show us off to a friend, always a girlfriend, though sometimes men were allowed in the room as well. On the third day, one of the visiting girls, a tall redhead, came over and was fascinated by my continuing erection. She touched the plastic of my casing, but then ran her fingers down to my protruding penis and stroked it lightly. It immediately throbbed in response, and I groaned slightly. As she continued to stroke, I felt the eruption of several days accumulated seed and with a loud groan ejaculated hard. It spurted well out in to the room, and I continued pumping semen out for at least 30 seconds before finally slowing.

This display struck the redhead as highly amusing, and she and Miss Cynthia went out of the room laughing and discussing something.

That evening, Miss Cynthia reviewed poor Dave's condition. She sighed, and took out several long needles. She inserted the needles in to his testicles, causing a series of muffled screams, in spite of his weakened state. Enjoying the pain her "art" was experiencing, she continued to insert needles in to the few exposed parts of his body until the cries weakened and grew feeble. She left him then, turned the lights out and all was quiet.

In the morning, it was clear that Dave had died, encased in his plastic shell. Caretakers came and removed his rigid body. We never saw or heard anything of him after that.

A party was held that evening. A number of guests attended, about 10 couples in all. The room was filled with food, wine, and music, and the guests enjoyed themselves tremendously. Some played with the art, some played with each other. Eventually, all 20 of the guests were naked and playing in twos and threes on the furniture and pillows. I had never seen so much fucking going on in one place in my life. There were literally piles of bodies, and I was as still and motionless as a statue, watching the debauchery.

Late in the evening, one woman came over to me and sucked my penis, bringing me to a huge orgasm. When she saw I was still erect, she had an idea. She and two of the men lifted me and lay me down on the floor. Then they got one of the other art pieces and lay her down on top of me, placing my penis in her mouth. In this way they had me mouth fuck first one, and then the other encased women.

The women then took turns riding my motionless form, amazed at how I kept hard, and orgasmed again and again. The men, jealous of the women's activities, took the other two art pieces and positioned them on their hands and knees, penetrating them from the front and behind.

When the evening was over, all three of us, the living statues, were covered with semen and the guests were exhausted.

The next day we were cleaned up. I could feel my mind slipping away again, the strain of being completely immobile was driving me insane. When the mistress came in to the room with another woman, she stood in front of me, demonstrated my erection and my ability to come repeatedly. I was out of it, and had begun to pant and make a low keening noise, and did not hear what they discussed. But after they left, some caretakers removed me, and wheeled me on a cart back down to the basement.

I had begun to sob with what little room I had to breathe. I lay on a table in the semi-darkness and waited. Finally, one of the lead caretakers came in with some sort of circular medical saw. He plugged it in and began sawing through the hard plastic.

An hour later, I was free, laying curled up on the floor, crying. Before I recovered, my elbows were tied to a strap placed around my waist and I was collared and led to a cell, where I was fed and watered.

The next morning, I was returned to work, naked in the sun except for the straps that restrained me.

The FSRA - Ending

I worked in the gardens and fields of Mistress Cynthia’s estate. It was a hard life, but I was fed and given shelter.

Life as a slave was hard, and life seemed endless. But there came a time when I was shackled, loaded on a truck with several other slaves, and driven in to the city. I vaguely remembered arriving at the warehouse where I had originally been sold to the Mistress.

I also remember the process of crucifixion, raised up and displayed for the buyers to examine, paw and probe.

When the crowd of buyers arrived at my cross, I hung in pain, suffering for their pleasure, but I noticed one woman in the back. She was quite young, perhaps 18 or 19, with long black hair and a tight leather outfit that revealed a perfect body. She looked familiar. Her attention was clearly on me, and when bidding began, she quickly outbid all others, paying over $100,000 for me.

Once she had closed the deal, she and the crowd moved on and I hung on the cross, awaiting the time when I would be cut down and transported to my new owner’s home.

I was hogtied and carried to a small BMW parked outside. Whoever this girl was, she was rich. I was thrown in the trunk and waited until the car started and we drove off.

When we arrived at our destination, the car engine was turned off, the door opened and closed and I heard the girls boots click away as she left the garage. I lay hogtied in the trunk for some time, until the lid was opened by two large men, who grabbed me roughly and carried me through a door and down a hall. I was placed on the floor of a large room which appeared to be equipped with every type of restraint and device of torture imaginable.

I was heaved on to a table which was tilted at a slight angle, with my feet lower than my head. My tied hands were secured above, and ankles tied on either edge of the table. I was stretched tightly, and there I remained for the rest of the afternoon and night.

As the morning light shown through the small window slits on one wall, the door opened and the girl entered. She wore a similar outfit to that she wore before; black denim and comfortable cotton top, with leather boots and long black hair tied back in a ponytail.

There was something about her which was so familiar.

She approached, and ran her fingers over my chest and neck, looking carefully at my face.

“You don’t know me. But I know you. Perhaps you will remember back… almost 19 years ago… when you first committed to punishment through the FSRA?”

I lay looking at her… and then it suddenly struck me. She looked like the operator from the prison. The one who had taken me, and tortured me horribly for 3 days until I was transferred to the milking farm. I shuddered, and felt tears fill my eyes involuntarily. A whimper escaped my lips and I said “please… no…” just under my breath…

She smiled widely. “Ah, you do remember. Yes. Your operator then was Victoria, my mother. She died last year. I am Vanessa, but you may call me V.”

Her finger nails slowly stroked my chest and stomach, leaving a trail of blood. They were sharpened to a razor edge.

“My mother’s dying wish was that I find you, and complete the job. You owed her one more day, you know. She never forgot that. I haven’t either.”

Her razor sharp nails circled my groin, leaving a small trail of blood leaking out in a pattern.

“I am your daughter, you know… ” She said these words as if they were almost an aside… as if thinking about how much she was going to make me hurt and just happened to be reminded of that small fact.

I burst in to tears, unable to handle the confusion in my mind… she was my torturers daughter; she was my daughter; she was going to put me through more pain than I could imagine… and she was slowly carving patterns in my groin with her sharpened nails… I thought I would go insane as I sobbed.

Her hand stopped its motion and took hold of my erection. It was the erection I had acquired with the drugs her mother had given me years before, the erection I had kept with me almost constantly for the last 19 years. She stroked it slowly but steadily, expertly. She had learned well from someone, perhaps her mother. In no time I had stopped sobbing and started moaning. Soon after I ejaculated, spurting over my stomach and chest.

She released me, and moved away, to gather something from a table to the side.

When she returned she had a simple piece of wood in her hand. A 2×4, about 3 feet long. And a large hammer or mallet. I shuddered, wondering what was going to happen and knowing it would be very, very painful.

The board was laid across my thighs and my testicles pulled on top. As they rested there, she took something in one hand. A small glint of metal and I knew. It was a nail, and she was holding my right testicle firmly in place.

One swift, hard blow and the nail pierced straight through the middle of my testicle and in to the board. I screamed with pain that grew worse with every blow as she pounded the nail firmly in to place. The pain rapidly spread across my lower body, and I began to involuntarily beg.

Her response to my pleas was to reposition herself on my left side, take my left testicle and raise the hammer. Another series of swift blows and a second nail was securely in place. I sobbed, begged, pleaded, though I didn’t know what I was pleading for.

My daughter untied my legs, and they instinctively rose in an attempt to protect my genitals. But in doing so, it pushed and twisted the board, causing more excruciating pain. I screamed, and hardly noticed she had unfastened my tied hands.

Jerking on my tied wrists she pulled me off the table. The pain swathed my entire lower body and was extending to my shoulders, making it difficult to move, but she gently guided me by pulling the wooden board, and thus my testicles. Moments later I was standing, sobbing, facing a bare wall.

V took a hammer and several more nails, and I screamed and begged for mercy, but she simply lifted the board and began hammering it to the wall. When she finished, I was firmly nailed to the wall by my testicles.

I smashed up against the wall to relieve any pressure or tugging on my poor testicles, and stood as still as possible. V then untied my hands, leaving me completely free except for where I was nailed to the wall. In spite of this, I could not move, for any movement away from the wall created stabbing pains through my hips and stomach. Then, amazingly, V simply turned and left the room.

Focusing on staying very still, I began to realize the terrible nature of the torture to which I was being submitted. As long as I did not move, while I would be in terribly pain, I would remain intact. But if I were to move away, or sink to the floor, my testicles would be shredded and torn. I had to remain standing, facing the wall, without moving, dealing with the horrible pain.

My hands searched for something to help support me as I stood. The wall was smooth. My fingers clawed at the board, the only protrusion from the wall, but it was securely fastened. I tried to control the panic I felt, and slow my breathing. It was hard, but I managed for a while.

But time went on, and the pain took its toll on my strength and soon my legs were shaking from weakness. I had to remain standing, but it was getting harder and harder. I lowered myself slightly, pulling slightly on the nails, in order to get an angle where my knees could rest against the wall and prop myself up. That helped a little, though the pain was worse because of the tugging. I tried digging my fingers in to the wall to make holes I could use to support myself, but the wall was made of a heavy wood that did not yield.

I was beginning to panic, feeling strength fail me, and I considered through the haze of my pain how badly my testicles would be mangled when I fell. Was there a way to minimize the damage? I tested the idea, and began to slip down slowly, but the nails tugged harder on my testicles and I screamed, suddenly finding new strength to straighten higher.

How long I managed to stand there, I don’t know. Hours? Probably. But eventually, my daughter V reentered the room. She came over, and observed me closely for a moment, touching my body, feeling the muscles strain, looking at the minimal blood loss at my groin.

“Father…” she began, in an almost kind way. “I am going to use a cattle prod on you now. It is really going to hurt. Don’t move, or you will loose those precious little gonads of yours.”

Her tone was comforting, soft and almost loving, and it made chills run through my body. She was the most sadistic person I had come across, and I had come across a lot.

I braced myself, pressing myself against the wall. Moments later I felt a searing jolt like the stab of a knife on my shoulder. I jerked involuntarily, screamed again, pulled on my nailed testicles and screamed again. Almost immediately a second jolt hit me on my buttocks, and I jerked the other way. The agony horrible, for the pain from the prod was so sudden I couldn’t help but jerk away, and that caused more pain as I yanked my testicles.

Another stabbing jolt, this time on my leg. I almost fell. A jolt on my neck. They were coming at irregular intervals, I couldn’t predict when and prepare myself. The torture continued, my body on giant mass of contracting, agonized unrelenting pain. I slipped and actually hung momentarily by my testicles as I struggled to get my feet under me. Blood poured down my legs and on to the floor from the enlarged holes around the nails.

A lost all sense of time, but eventually I discovered I was on the floor, regaining consciousness. There was blood everywhere, and I was in horrible pain, but no longer attached to the wall. I don’t remember what happened, if I ripped myself off from the nails, or if I fell, or if she pulled the nails out. I just knew I was curled on the floor, cradling the punctures and sobbing.

Water splashed over me, and washed away some of the pain and blood. My hands were jerked away from my groin and tied together. A hook was placed through the wrist ties, and slowly ascended until I hung from the ceiling, my feet about a foot from the floor. I was in pain throughout my entire body, and desperately wanted to curl up and protect myself, but I simply hung there, jerking uncontrollably.

V circled me, one hand touching me, running around my torso. She reached down and felt my erection, which had diminished some. Her touch brought it back fully, in spite of the pain.

“Two more hours, father. You can do it, I know you can…. lets try something different, shall we?” Her tone was kindly but businesslike. I was cranked higher in to the air, until I was about 4 feet from the ground. V brought two large round weights, the size of bowling balls. Each had a small loop of chain attached. She slipped the loop of one of the weights over one of my ankles and then let the weight fall. It jerked my body, pulling my shoulder joints, hip joints, and any number of other places across my body. The weight must have been about 20 lbs.

The second weight went on, and with a sudden jerk stretched my body further.

The pain, dehydration, stress, everything, overwhelmed me and I vomited over myself. My daughter crinkled her nose, but did nothing but reach one foot out and swing the heavy weights back and forth.

The cattle prod was brought out again, and my daughter spent some time watching me jerk. She played, sometimes touching me with the prod when it wasn’t activated so that I would jerk at the touch, but there was no shock. Other times, I would feel the shock without warning.

I lost consciousness for the second time that day.

When I came to my senses, I didn’t realize what was happening, or where I was. It took a moment to get oriented, after which I saw I was hanging horizontally to the floor, my wrists strung up in one direction, my ankles pulled in another. Wires were attached to my body on my nose, ears, nipples, wrists, ankles. I knew what was to happen, and I screamed again before it did.

Searing pain from a high voltage shock ran from the electrodes in my nose, down the the wires on my wrists. My body tensed, but the shock was so great I could not make a noise. When it finally stopped, I flopped down and cried, but only for a moment for another shock began, running from my nipples to my ears.

The agony continued, one location of my body, to another. No predictable pattern. Just pain, recurring, over and over again in my suspended form. My muscles had tensed to the point of tearing repeatedly. I lost consciousness again, and was awakened with a splash of water so that the torture could continue.

At last, I realized I was hanging by my wrists and ankles, and had hung there without any shocks, for some time. Reality and the ability to think began to return. I was aware of the room, the cold and dark descending.

I hung exhausted, bleeding, drooling, head hanging backwards, every part of my body aching and burning with pain.

My daughter, my torturer, V, came over to me and began stroking my penis. It became erect, and in moments I had achieved an orgasm, messing myself and making my testicles scream out in protest.

Moments later I was lowered on to a gurney, the chains removed from my wrists and ankles, and rolled out of the room.

The next morning I awoke in a clean white room, on a comfortable bed. There was an IV in my arm, pumping liquids and antibiotics in to me. I had been washed and was dressed in pajamas. A light breakfast sat on a small table next to my bed.

Over the next two weeks I was give the best medical care possible, and V came in to check on me several times a day.

After a month, V gave me new clothes, a fresh shave, and some money. She led me to the door at the front of her home, and opening it, she said “You have fulfilled your side of the contract with my mother. Your agreements and responsibilities under the FSRA have been met. You are a free man.”

The door closed behind me as I stood bewildered.

I had been in some sort of slavery for the last 19 years. My life had been full of hardship, pain and horror. It had climaxed with my own daughter putting me through hell. And now I was free. I had no idea how to deal with this freedom. I didn’t know where to go, what to do, how to act. Even the act of wearing clothes seemed unnatural and uncomfortable.

I did the only thing I could think of. I turned, rang the bell of my daughter’s home, and kneeled as she opened the door.

V knew what I wanted, what I needed. She stroked my head and placed a collar around my neck. Attaching a leash to the collar’s ring, she led me inside the house, slapping my buttocks slightly with a crop to hurry me along.