(This was my first attempt at drawing my own visuals for a caption, rather than using pics/gifs or collaborating with an artist- so please don’t be too harsh lol).
Jim didn’t need his sense of sight to know that he was in Hell. What started out as slow, deliberate breathing had devolved into
panicked hyperventilating inside the black rubber hood locked around his
head. He had given up trying to remain silent and stoic, and was now yelping and screaming inside the clingy material as his body was overwhelmed with stimulation.
The steel silo encasing his penis was lined with thick bristles- all of which were strategically placed to invade the most unbearably sensitive parts of his manhood. His glans, corona, piss lips, frenulum and the corded underside of his fat shaft were all hotbeds of nerves being molested by the prickly material with every move he made. As torturous as the sensations were, they forced his penis into a permanently erect position inside the tubular device, making it utterly impossible to evade the tactile torment.
Jim’s hands were bunched up into rubber mitts, and his wrists were strapped to a thin belt around his waist. Much to his dismay, he hadn’t been provided with any protection for his knees against the cold, linoleum surface of the floor- limiting his pace and making his journey down the long hallways as painful and labored as possible.
On either side of him, Jim could hear the sounds of numerous gentlemen- once free and proud– being broken down into bovine beasts. Removed from society in order to repent for their alleged criminal sins- they were now deprived of all human rights and privileges. A lot had changed in the past decade, and men had very little wiggle room within the refurbished legal system; installed into wall-mounted ports, their reproductive fluids would be forcefully extracted until a predetermined amount had been collected. Their legs flail and their feet kick out, but each inmate is forced to buck deep into the wall and surrender their seed.
Charged with tax evasion and sentenced to yield 1.5 quarts of seminal fluid for the U.S. government, Jim had been stripped of all his clothing inside a crowded courtroom before being bound, hooded and outfitted with the cruel, cylindrical apparatus- which was designed to stimulate a man’s genitals into producing sperm-rich semen– tailored to fit his penis perfectly, and now driving him insane.
After being transported to an out-of-state correctional facility- or a “farm” as they had been unofficially nicknamed by civilians- Jim was not allowed to walk to his designated “port” on his bare feet, but instead had to make his way there on his knees. Several correctional officers escorted him- one holding a leash attached to the base of the device on his dick– to make sure he arrived in a timely manner.
They had never seen Jim’s face, but they became quite familiar with his anus as it winked up at them amidst his slow crawling. Chit chatting about sports, the men ignored the new inmate’s frantic noises, and exchanged friendly nods when they passed another officer struggling to reinstall a disorderly inmate’s penis back into a wall port. With their upper bodies totally immobilized inside airbag-like cocoons on the other sides the walls, prisoners relied solely on the strength of their thighs and calves to try and pull their dicks out of the ports.
Much like the interim cage around Jim’s penis, the holes in the wall were equipped with pesky bristles- however, they were heated, lubricated and mounted on mechanized tracks, so no matter how still an inmate attempted to remain, the constantly-roving quills would force frequent, massive ejaculations. When he arrived at his port and the officers began removing his cage, Jim’s relief would be very short-lived… unlike his eventual time served.
la traie des esclaves
des objets qui commencent à comprendre le statut et la vie d’esclave définitif
When friends are expected some owners now show their refinement and taste by having a slave on the coffee table rather than one or more volumes of those “coffee table books” that were so popular a decade ago.
LE PILORI QUE JE VAIS ACHETER POUR CHEETA EX COMETE
CHEETA EST MAINTENANT AU NIVEAU 9 SOIT UN BETAIL HUMAIN OBJET RIEN DE PLUS
“Les objets sont des âmes perdues qui ont trouvé un endroit pour être significatif et pertinent dans le monde où les TI existent.
Au-delà de ça … IT n’est rien … IL EST BÉTAIL … pas animal … IL n’a pas de droits … IL existe simplement … UTILISEZ-LE … c’est le but de IT.”
IL FAUT GERER EN BETAIL HUMAIN COMME UN YAPOU
C EST UNE CHOSE OBJET BETAIL HUMAIN INFERIEUR A UN ANIMAL
MODIFIER POUR MES BESOINS ET MES ENVIES RIEN DE PLUS
Dad came into my bedroom every night to “purge my seminal ducts” before I was allowed to go to sleep. He told me it would help me sleep better and prevent me from having inappropriate dreams. I never had any say in the matter, squirting right through his fist and onto my comforter night after night while my brothers watched from their own beds, waiting their turns.
