InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Ornamental ❯ 3370 ( Chapter 1 )

 

Ornamental

By: The Dancing Pony

 

Chapter One: 3370

 

St. Charlie's Training Facility raised the finest slaves in the country. Each and every slave was raised with absolute care, and with any kind of task in mind. Buy one slave from this esteemed establishment and not only could he plow your fields, cook your food, and even give you the best massage you ever had; he could serve some of your more... private needs. But hush! You're not supposed to know that!

 

Slaves in the compound were not abused... very much. A worn-down slave would not perform properly on the block, nor would he be satisfactory to his master. The highest priced slaves were unscarred, well-shaped, and competent.

 

Among the most expensive slaves were exotics. These were used as more of a decoration, and bought by wealthy individuals, or the children of wealthy individuals. Exotics were hauntingly beautiful, male or female. Eyes were slanted slightly upwards, and many had some charming characteristic that set them apart form others. Exotics beginning with the number seven were reptilian; exotics beginning with the number six were avian. The number three at the beginning always meant canine.

 

Exotics with exceptional features would fetch a high price as an ornamental slave. So each slave was taught accordingly. They could do any number of domestic chores - and were very adept at doing some of the outdoor chores that were more... exhibitory.

 

But ornamental slaves needed to be broken before the final, most important skill could be taught; otherwise they would fight tooth and nail. Exotics had this annoying habit of attaching themselves mentally and emotionally to the first living creature it experienced an orgasm for; even completely against its will, and some trainers had the unfortunate duty to put down several mistakes. Even more frustrating was an exotic's almost complete inability to orgasm unless something living was stimulating it.

 

Normally these restrictions on an exotic's psyche would guarantee that the living thing was human, or another exotic, and that the attraction was strong enough in both of them to initiate the bonding. But under circumstances of St. Charlie's the exotics were certainly not willing.

 

Mechanical techniques had to be used, and after many years of perfecting the mental breaking of exotics, there was not one that could resist. And once his breathing had slowed and his eyes opened to find not one living creature near him; first there came confusion, then fear, then depression. The exotic then had to be left in the room for no less than twenty four hours, so there would be no accidental attachment to a trainer. Most people tended to leave the observatory room, for the desperate wails of the broken exotic were painful to listen to. Filled with shame, fear, the sad lament penetrated most trainers' hearts. Well, the ones that had one.

 

After the initial twenty-four hour wait, the ornamental exotic began training in its main purpose: the sexual pleasure of its master. A very pleasant ramification of the forced orgasm, and subsequent inability to bond, was that the exotic became very eager to please, and very easy to manipulate. If only to receive one small word of praise, a broken exotic would starve itself. However, one had to be careful not to let one's slave to orgasm in one's presence.

 

Exotics served a wide arrange of fetishes and kinks, and that is why St. Charlie's ornamental slaves were so sought after, not to mention extremely hard to obtain. Only the richest and most influential individuals could even attend the showcase. It was a mark of power to have one.

.o.

.o.

.o.

 

A single fluorescent bulb cast its permeating, unnatural light on the dingy cell. The walls and most everything else were stained yellow. What once had been sterile white ages ago now had a sickening tint to it. Stainless steel was now stained. Nameless shapes from nameless substances decorated the walls, floors, and even the ceiling.

 

Two cheap metal-framed beds with one-inch-thick mattresses and torn, filthy sheets were shoved against opposite corners of the room. One had a shivering mass of dementia huddled under the single sheet. The other occupant of the room... well. Let's just say that the young man was feeling very alone right then.

 

His name was Number 3370. Capture nearly a year ago and frequent, hearty doses of shock treatment erased his real name from his memory. Since then life had become one very long day. The lights never turned off, and when one went out it was replaced within the hour. Absolutely filthy windows allowed no light to shine through, and more often than not the rooms in St. Charlie's did not have windows.

 

During this very long day, 3370 would go to a room with weights, treadmills, and many other exercise machines. There, a beefy man would yell at him and make him do pointless movements with the machines. The beefy man - whom 3370 was supposed to refer to as Trainer Keeloff - said it was to shape his body, but 3370 didn't believe him. Why would Trainer Keeloff want to shape his body?

 

In fact, 3370 didn't understand a lot of what he was made to do. He didn't know why he had to eat the same white, grainy, paste-like goo that Trainer Keeloff said had a lot of vitamins. How would eating such disgusting stuff be good for him? 3370 also didn't understand why only his tail got cleaned regularly, when getting all the itchy dirt off of his arms and back and legs would feel really nice; but all the attention to his tail was pleasant. It shone, and was the only thing in the dirty room that was worth looking at. Trainer Keeloff threatened to wrap it up in bandages if 3370 did not stop putting his dirty hands on it.

 

Now the other lessons, 3370 did understand. He knew how to clean floors and how to wax them again; how to wash cloths and how to make sure delicate material did not get ruined; how to make up a bed neatly; how to cook with food he wasn't allowed to eat; how to chop wood and stack it properly. All those things were useful, if not particularly interesting to know.

 

Actually, 3370 did not really know why he was there. He had been at St. Charlie's for as long as he could remember. He did get food, even though it wasn't very good. He did get exercise, even though it was really strange. But step one toe out of line, and you got a punishment that didn't leave marks. According to Trainer Keeloff, slaves didn't need to be smart.

 

3370 couldn't always remember why he was punished. That happened sometimes after a punishment. However, Trainer Keeloff assured him - in no uncertain or kind terms - that he fully deserved it. Just thinking of it sent 3370 into shivers again. The way the men in white were so cold and emotionless when they strapped him down. They stuck those little suction-things on his head and chest. They put something padded in his mouth, and the last thing 3370 saw, before the world went white, black, purple, and a million other colors - some colors that didn't exist, some colors that hurt him, and some colors that made him feel strange. Some colors that made his insides sizzle, and some that made him full-out burn, and the burn spread to his toes and his back and his head - he always saw those emotionless eyes. Cold eyes always meant punishment. And when the pain was over-with, Trainer Keeloff was there, telling 3370 how bad he was, and how he should never, ever be so bad again. Then the world would burst into colors again; evil colors, but a few good colors. And something would snap in his mouth, and the world came back; and he was being un-strapped; and Trainer Keeloff was telling him that this would not have to happen if only 3370 would be good and always do what his master or his trainer told him to.

 

3370 had come from just such a punishment. His head hurt so much, and Trainer Keeloff knew that his head would hurt for a long time, so Trainer Keeloff would show how he was such a good trainer by not taking 3370 to the exercise room for a couple more hours, and bringing him some medicine that would make the pain go away.

 

3370 was always such a mess after his punishments. His eyes wouldn't focus for a long time. He couldn't shut his mouth, so drool got over a lot of his things. He couldn't seem to talk, and his motor skills were horribly off. 3370 would be ashamed of himself - if he weren't in so much pain.

 

3370 lifted his arm and tried to focus on his limp hand in front of his face. The image wavered horribly, although he didn't know weather that was because his arm was moving or his vision was moving. He gently lowered his arm to rest on the bed - out of the puddle of drool. His skin tingled like it was on fire, like every inch of him was burning. Even lying on the bed was painful, and the trail of saliva down his chin was like lava slowly seeping across his flesh. He would wipe it away if he had the coordination to do so, and if he was sure that it would not just make the pain worse.

 

3370 always seemed to be getting punished. He always tried his best to please Trainer Keeloff, but Trainer Keeloff was never happy. He never went fast enough on the machines, he never ate enough of the slop, he never kept his hands off of his tail, and he never did any of his tasks correctly. Sometimes 3370 just wanted to curl up and scream with frustration! He wanted to shout at Trainer Keeloff, with his huge, muscled arms and tiny legs that 3370 was not the disproportioned freak in the room!

 

The quiet click of a door opening brought 3370 out of his fevered musings. Had he the strength to look over his shoulder, he would have seen Trainer Keeloff staring at his quivering back with an odd expression that made his eyes glaze over. He would have seen Trainer Keeloff shake himself out of his musings, grin secretively to himself, and raise a long needle to the level of his eyes. He would have seen Trainer Keeloff quickly and quietly stride over to the handsome young man, and bring the needle to a point on his neck. As it was, 3370 only felt a prick on his neck and a burning coldness down his back before the world went black.

.o.

.o.

.o.

Wheezing was the noise that awoke 3370. He was pulled from a world of blackness that had no pain or confused, feverish, insane thoughts, and brought back to the filthy room with the light that was always on. The noise behind him continued, and did not lessen in intensity.

 

3370 groggily lifted his hand to wipe his face. Everything was back in working order, and the only reminder of his punishment was a bone-deep ache throughout his whole body. 3370 flicked his perfectly groomed tail in annoyance. Why did he have to always find new ways to make Trainer Keeloff upset? He should know by now all the things that Trainer Keeloff didn't like. Unless he forgot them every time he was punished.

 

The wheezing faded and eventually sobs and choked cries started to emerge from the other side of the room. The cries were disturbing and when 3370 turned around, with no little difficulty, his jaw went slack with horror. 3369, his roommate and another wolf exotic, was flat on his back on the other bed. His brown eyes were wide and stared holes in the ceiling. One hand clenched at his throat, and the other pressed hard on his lower stomach. He seemed to be in such a state of agony, of depression, of anguish, that tears would not come. His sobs were less sobs and more a forced exhalation of air. As if he didn't quite know how to express his torture.

 

3369 didn't seem to be harmed, but there was something very wrong with how he clawed at his lower stomach. As well as the fact that he did not have one stitch of clothing on his person.

 

3370 heaved himself to his feet, and steadied at a half crouch when he lacked the strength to hold himself upright. Slowly, he let go of his bed and hobbled his way over to his best friend and roommate.

 

"Th.... th-hhh," 3370 wheezed and choked on his own dry throat. He reached the bed and kneeled down, resting his arms on the mattress at 3369's shoulder. "3369," 3370 managed to whisper. 3369 remained oblivious, wrapped up in his agony; he continued to struggle against unseen restraints.

 

"3369," 3370 raised his voice and his buddy seemed to notice him. 3369's brown eyes widened and his thrashing stopped, even though whines and whimpers continued to force through his throat. His right hand loosened and patted around, seemingly searching for something. Finding 3370's hand, 3369 gripped it tightly and brought it back to his throat, where he continued to cling to it. 3370's presence seemed to calm 3369, and seeing his only friend is such a broken state hurt him so deeply it was worse than punishment.

 

3370 shakily lifted his free hand and set it gently on the other slave's forehead. He awkwardly shushed and petted his desperate friend back to normal breathing, and soon, with a sigh, 3369 drifted to sleep. Even in dreams, 3369 still clung to 3370's hand and wouldn't let go, and that sent a knife through 3370's soft heart. Eventually he, too, fell asleep with his head resting on 3369's shoulder, and his hand resting on his friend's white hair. He was still weak from his punishment, and the effort of walking around and leaning on the bed was too much. 3370 swiftly succumbed to slumber.

.o.

.o.

.o.

Keeloff was happy. Wait - that was an understatement. Keeloff was ecstatic. The wolf boy was finally old enough to start his training. It was worth the stupid lessons of chores, endless exercise, and constant attention to the dumb boy's tail. It was worth the years of waiting and anticipation to get the opportunity to train another slave. That was why trainers were willing to put up with all they did.

 

He had just finished breaking his other charge; a process which had proved to be very satisfying. Of course he left immediately after the boy came down. Those wails were designed to depress any listener. After that Keeloff had two slaves drag 3369 to his room where 3370 had just undergone the first step into a week-long process.

 

The shock treatment was extremely helpful in training slaves. Most of the time the "punishments" were nothing of the sort; it just got the slaves paranoid of making a mistake, and it usually distorted their sense of time. 3370 probably thought that his best friend had been gone for only a few hours, rather than a week.

 

After the unusually strong shock treatment, 3370 was injected with a substance that kept him asleep for days. By now he should be weak and dehydrated; unable to resist when the real breaking would begin.

 

Keeloff motioned to the slaves wheeling the gurney to stop. Room 3300 was his room. Both slaves were given to him to train, and he devoted every waking moment to making sure that his slaves were the finest damn slaves ever brought up. Such a huge job required his full attention, and attending to more than two slaves was spreading his talents too thin. The slave to trainer ratio0 was never higher than two to one.

 

Keeloff opened the door, only to find the boy he was searching for absent from his cot. No, he was at the other end of the room, upper half entangled with the recently broken exotic, and his bottom half draped haphazardly on the floor. Curses! This could ruin all his work with 3369! If that little abomination managed to get 3369 to bond with him - unknowingly of course, the boy was too stupid for his own good - then that would be twelve years down the drain! Not to mention the extermination fees and the money lost training him, as well as no money from a sale!

 

It might not be too late, however. Keeloff jerked his thumb at the kneeling boy, who was more like a young adult, and the slaves tried to quietly extract 3370 from the other sleeping exotic. 3370 was sixteen, and his training in the art of sexual pleasure would last several years before he was sold. Patrons liked their slaves young. Not as young as a child, even though there were underground circles that sold ornamental slaves as early as eight years old. However, that habit was looked down upon in higher circles, and it was a mark of ill taste to display an ornamental slave younger than eighteen.

 

The slaves quickly and quietly deposited the drained wolf exotic on the gurney and rolled him out the door. The next step would be to lull him into a false sense of security. Keeloff led the way down the main hall of the training facility.

 

The building was comprised of three wings, and a central gallery where slaves were displayed and sold. The east wing held the exotic slave barracks, the west wing held the human slave barracks, and the North wing was where the training actually occurred. Each wing consisted of one very large hallway with doors lining the sides at spaced intervals. The trainer's rooms were on the second floor, which was entirely devoted to trainer's comforts.

 

Keeloff waved off his assistant slaves as they entered the cross lobby. Taking the gurney nearest 3370's head, he slowed to a patient walk and gently tapped the exotic's face. The slave's eyes fluttered and opened, only to squint in pain as they met the fluorescent lights.

 

"Trainer... Keeloff... sir."

 

"Shhh, boy. You've been very sick and I'm taking you to a place to get you better," Keeloff soothed. His watery grey eyes seemed to radiate sympathy to the exhausted boy, and 3370 nodded his head tiredly.

 

"First, though, you are going to take a nice hot bath. Won't that be nice? It's my way of trying to make you feel better, you see. I feel just terrible that you got sick because of your punishment." His quite tenor voice washed over 3370 and he absently nodded again before closing his eyes.

 

Keeloff tapped his charge's face again as 3370 drifted to sleep. It was important that the exotic be mentally and physically drained for the procedure to work. 3370 must not regain any more strength if this was to be done correctly.

 

3370 protested weakly to the pestering, but was scolded by Keeloff. "Now, you can't fall asleep. Otherwise you might drown in the tub, and we wouldn't want that... and look, we're here already." Keeloff pushed the swinging doors to the bathing rooms open with the foot of the gurney. The steam from hot showers and baths filled the hallway, creating a sauna. The slave seemed to relax in the heat, and was visibly struggling not to slip into the slumber that his body so desperately craved. Keeloff was just plain bothered by the heat. He hated the sweaty, pungent room and tended to avoid going there as much as possible; reason number one that his slaves weren't bathed nearly as much as the other slaves were. However the bathing rooms served as a reward for good behavior, which was a luxury that other trainers had to strain for. There weren't many worthwhile rewards to be found in the compound.

 

The entire area was wood paneled and the lighting was softer here than anywhere else in the building. There were open showers at the very end of a thirty-foot hallway, and private bathing rooms lining each side. The walls and doors were of dark, mellow wood, giving the room a golden glow. Plastic green plants were spaced evenly and added something fresh-looking to the musty atmosphere of the rooms. Murmurs of conversations and the occasional shout echoed loudly off of the walls.

 

At this time of day, there were few slaves or trainers in the baths. The majority of the slaves would be at lessons or weight training. The bathing rooms not only serviced the slaves, but also the trainers, who would, more often than not, bathe with their slaves. It was useful to train slaves to equate cleanliness with pleasure.

 

Keeloff stopped the gurney outside of the third door on the left. A gold number five was fogged over, and a circular window above it was decorated with a plaid curtain. Keeloff tore 3370 away from the gurney, and 3370 groaned in pain, struggling to remain upright. Keeloff ended up half carrying his charge into the even darker room. On one end there was a rather large tub, lined with pressure-treated wood. On the other side was a white marble sink that held a number of sweet-smelling soaps. To the left of the door there was a table backed against the wall. It was at waist height to serve as a bench. To the right was a brazier that held electrically heated coils of metal.

 

Keeloff kicked off his trainers and slid them next to the door, depositing 3370 onto the bench before he shut the door to the private bathing room. He left 3370 to fall asleep again while he filled the tub with hot water, laced with therapeutic scents. All this was the drugging process of the slave. Saturate their senses with perfumes, gentle massages, white noise, and dim lighting. Then, when they least expected it, and when they could not fight against it, snap!

 

The best part was watching them struggle. The way they tried to push away from the machine that pumped and massaged their genitals. Keeloff especially liked it when they called out for him to save them. Then, when they realized that that was exactly what he intended, their mournful and panicked wails of betrayal. The confliction was evident in their faces. The stimulation always felt so good - because every trainer got curious at one point, and put themselves under the machine - but to their instincts it felt so wrong.

 

Keeloff jerked himself out of his devious recollections when the tub was filled with bubbly water. Before he returned to the dark-haired slave he poured water onto the burning coils, filling the room even more with muggy humidity. Turning to 3370, he clicked his tongue in annoyance at the sleeping boy.

 

Gathering him up, he stripped 3370 of the sexless uniform of the slave - a knee-length waist wrap and a nondescript, sleeveless shirt - and deposited him in the long bathtub. He secured the boy's head in the headrest so he wouldn't drown, and set about rubbing down his body with a soft washcloth. 3370 sighed with contentment and a small smile crept onto his face. Keeloff grinned evilly as the towel brushed over the boy's penis and he jerked uncomfortably.

 

After the bath - in which even the lithe boy's hair was washed to a silky shine - Keeloff dried off the docile exotic and laid him face-down on the bench, the towel lightly wrapped around his waist. 3370 would get about an hour of sleep now because Keeloff would enjoy giving his charge a massage just as much as 3370 would enjoy receiving it. Keeloff's large, beefy hands kneaded every muscle in 3370's back, rubbing lightly scented oil, enriched with dopamine and tranquilizers, into his pale skin. Eventually, that skin would be bronzed by tanning booths, but that was never bothered with until he was close to being sold. There was no point in damaging the slave's skin while there was no one paying to enjoy it.

 

When 3370 was snoring lightly, Keeloff tentatively pried away the towel and glared lustfully at his naked bottom. The exotic's naturally well shaped muscles had been constantly toned by endless hours of exercise. What he was looking at was one of the finest, smoothest, firmest pieces of ass he had ever seen. The full, brown tail began directly above the cleft of his cheeks and fell softly to the side, twitching occasionally to his dreams. Keeloff couldn't wait for training to begin, when he would get to do anything he wanted with that ass, and teach 3370 to respond correctly.

 

Keeloff turned his charge onto his back and pulled him into a sitting position by his shoulders. The cobalt eyes wearily peered through long, thick lashes, unfocused and wandering aimlessly.

 

"Soft one, soft one, time to bring you to heal," Keeloff whispered in the slave's pointed ear. "I'll put you back on the gurney and bring you to a doctor where they'll fix you up with the best medicine." 3370's head bobbed up and down as he tried to force his weakened muscles to support him. After the intensive massage, he should be feeling like jelly. "They'll put you in a soft, warm bed and feed you special, sweet food. Food that is better than your normal food." When he was settled on the gurney, completely unaware of his unclothed state, he collapsed and sprawled along its narrow frame. "Until you're better, you won't have to do any more exercises, or go to lessons." He was utterly relaxed, and already feeling better - just exhausted.

 

Keeloff continued beguiling his slave. Soon, so soon now. He could almost hear the cries of ecstasy and despair. He rolled the gurney down the hallway and through a set of swinging doors leading from the showers directly to the room where 3370 would spend the next few days. The abrupt change in lighting stung both their eyes and the abrupt change in temperature made them shiver.

 

The hallway was completely bare and devoid of all color. It was pure white from top to bottom and the white light cast form the ceiling aided in creating a sterile atmosphere. He brought the exotic through another set of swinging doors and entered a small room, similar to a doctor's waiting area. Keeloff hurriedly bustled 3370 off the gurney, he was impatient; he needed that slave attached to that machine now.

 

3370 was dumped unceremoniously in a chair where he whimpered in pain. He sprawled in the chair, his legs were stretched out as far as they could go and spread wide, and his arms flopped on either side of him. His face was scrunched in pain and he tried to turn his face to hide from the bright lights.

 

Keeloff left him there and folded the gurney to rest on hooks on the wall. Knocking on a small pane of glass, he alerted the technician in the other room. She came through the door quickly, pushing a wheelchair in front of her and glaring peevishly at Keeloff. She never did like the man. He was a sick bastard, and she had to yell at him for jerking off in the control room more than one time on the last slave he brought.

 

She turned her attention to the worn-down slave on the chair. He was a handsome specimen. Like all male exotics, he was large, and his testicles had promise to grow to a luscious size. The young blond technician carefully approached the boy, hiding her eagerness.

 

"Well hello my fine boy," she said soothingly. 3370 lifted his head to peer at her inquiringly. "My name is Trainer Melissa, and who might you be?" Melissa wrapped her arms around the exotic boy's wait and rested his head on her shoulder.

 

"Number 3370, ma'am." His reply was muffled into her shoulder and she smiled as she heaved him forward.

 

"Well hello Number 3370. Trainer Keeloff tells me that you're sick. Is that true?" Most of his weight rested in her arms even as he struggled to gain some footing. Try as he might, though, he could barely move.

 

"Yes'm." Melissa maneuvered him to the wheelchair and gently lowered him to rest comfortably.

 

"Can you tell me how you got sick, boy?" She made a few adjustments to his arms and legs before turning the chair to push it towards the door she had entered through. Keeloff jumped to hold the door open for her, and she sailed right past.

 

"Got punished... then... then got sick." His head fell forward slowly, his resistance visible.

 

"Now, now wake up. I can't make you better if you're asleep," she said, patting his face harshly enough to sting. 3370 was brought through yet another hallway. The only difference from the others was that this one was severely shortened. There was a pair of swinging doors at the very end and one door on either side. Melissa brought him through the swinging doors which opened automatically at her approach. "I know you're tired, but you must stay awake. Could you tell me why you were punished?"

 

"Mmm.... Don't remember." He glanced around the room. In the center there was a long black chair on a raised platform. The chair was reclined and padded, yet had chain restraints hanging almost everywhere. Directly in front of the chair was a white cylindrical machine with lots of levers, slots, flashing buttons and panels. Mirrors faced each other from either side of the spacious, square room.

 

"Ahh, yes. I remember hearing from some other trainers that punishments sometimes wipe memories. Well, it probably doesn't matter anyway." She pushed the chair's foot rests aside, sliding 3370's feet from them and setting them on the cold floor. 3370 shivered wrapped his arms around his naked torso. "Tell me about Trainer Keeloff. Is he good to you?" This time 3370 was able to gain footing and helped Melissa walk him over to the black chair.

 

"He's good. He gave me a bath, and rubbed my back." When they reached the black chair 3370 winced before he sat down, expecting the vinyl surface to feel colder than the floor. He was pleasantly surprised to find a heated surface meet his skin.

 

"That's lovely dear. Now stay still, darling; I'm afraid I have to strap you in before I can start making you better." The restraints were leather, reinforced with steel chains that clanked loudly above the hum of the machine. She began with his wrists, wrapping the leather tight enough to hold, but loose enough to not impede his circulation. "There's nothing to be afraid of, dear," she said, noticing his apprehension. "This is going to be nothing like your punishments." She smiled warmly. "The restraints are so you don't move out of position. You could be hurt very badly if you moved so much as an inch, and this is a way of making sure there are no accidents."

 

3370 nodded and relaxed into the warm black material, still tense as a springboard at the clinking of the chains. Several things did not make sense to his muddled mind, but he just couldn't figure out what.

 

Straps went over any part of his body that could be moved by the muscles in his back or his legs. His legs were strapped down at his ankle, his shin, and two straps on his thighs. The chair bent slightly at the knees, and a strap cupped each of his kneecaps, firmly pressing them against the leg rests. One wide strap crossed his shoulders and two more straps above the elbow on each arm completely immobilized his upper body. A band of leather, the only one not reinforced with chains, was secured lightly across his forehead. The last restraint went across 3370's stomach. This restraint was hard leather that was much wider than the others. It not only kept his back, but his entire lower torso from leaving the seat. 3370 could not move an inch. The only things he could move were his fingers and his head from side to side.

 

"Whew! Those are heavy!" Melissa chuckled and wiped her lightly perspiring forehead with the back of her hand. 3370 glanced at her nervously, and begged with his eyes to be allowed to speak. He desperately wanted his fears to be settled because flashes of his friend were running through his head. He had a nagging feeling that the nervous energy that was running through him was disturbingly similar to what happened to 3369.

 

"Now, do you have any questions before I come back and we begin?" Her face was pleasant and expectant, and she gently stroked his chest as she waited for his answer.

 

"Um... what are you going... going to... to do?" Melissa's hand felt really good. No canine exotic could keep a clear head during a chest rub; just like other dogs, they melted.

 

"Oh, there's really nothing to worry about, dear. It's just a simple procedure. I do it all the time, and there's no way you can be hurt." She patted his chest in punctuation and turned to exit through the swinging doors.

.o.

.o.

.o.

Exiting the room and turning sharply to her left she banged open the white door. She had a few things to say to Keeloff before she would continue any further. The cretin would not walk all over her standards and debase her immaculate control room with his filth.

 

Keeloff was looking through the two-way mirror to the still exotic on the black chair. Most of his cloths had already been strewn about the room, which was mainly used for relaxation and... recreation. Throughout the entire process, Keeloff would be living within the three rooms. The specimen would need to be monitored continuously to prevent damage. As technician of the breaking operations, Melissa oversaw everything that went on during the three-day period. Keeloff would be expected to share the burdens of continuous watch so Melissa could rest when she needed.

 

The room was simple enough. There was a bed, a small bathroom in the opposite corner of the entrance, and a speaker to call for food. It was painted in deep colors, to keep the room dark, and had a wide, luxurious couch facing the panel of glass.

 

"I just have a few things to say to you before I start." Her lip rose in a sneer at the sight of his naked lower half. She hated human men; their form was completely inferior to exotics. "I don't want you out of this room unless I call you to take over for the few hours of sleep I'll need. Last time you got your nasty jizz all over the control panel and nearly short-circuited my machine."

 

"Hey, Mill, that wasn't my fault -"

 

"Don't call me Mill, and there's no way it couldn't have been your fault. Jerk yourself off here before you even step into my computer room. Am I clear?"

 

"Crystal," Keeloff said wryly. He turned his attention back to the lightly struggling form of his boy in dismissal.

 

"One more thing,"

 

"Oh what now -"

 

"You might want to start putting together your slaves' handbooks. You wouldn't want to loose big money because a customer spent credits on a slave they have no idea how to control."

 

"Oh for Christ's sake Mill!"

 

"I said don't call me Mill, you stupid creature! I'm putting up with you because it's my job. I'll be the happiest I've ever been when this is over because it means I won't see you for another thirteen years!" Melissa stayed as far from the trainer as she could and clutched the stainless steel door handle in anger. "There's a computer next to the bed. You can access your account on the mainframe from there."

 

She opened the door and stepped out, pausing just outside the entrance. "And remember: Do not leave this room until I tell you to." With that she slammed the door and left Keeloff in the darkened room.

 

Outside, Melissa straightened her white lab coat and adjusted her glasses. That Keeloff was one of the most despicable trainers she had ever had the displeasure to deal with. She never ventured far from her white domain, and spent most of her time tending to the current exotic, or maintaining her machine. She knew everything about the machine. She should - her mother built it. When her mother retired, Melissa took over her position and even added a few touches to her masterpiece.

 

Her high heels tap-tap-taped loudly as she strode confidently back to 3370. He would be quite stressed by now, and it was important to soothe him back to complacence. As she pushed open the wide swinging door his whimpers and quiet yelps reached her ears. Schooling her face into concern and her voice to ooze warmth, she called to the boy.

 

"Why, soft boy, what's the matter?" She quickened her steps and immediately reached to pet him. 3370 flinched but calmed when he saw the person that was so nice to him before. "What's wrong? Is one of the straps too tight? Do you need to use a toilet?"

 

"N-no." He turned his head away in shame and tried to curl in on himself despite the chains.

 

"Then what is it? You know I'll try and fix it," Melissa crooned and continued to stroke the boy's hair and chest.

 

"It-it's just... I've got no cloths, and I'm strapped down, and... and," 3370 was quickly hyperventilating, and his struggles against the chains were increasing.

 

"Is that all?" Melissa gave a short laugh. "Why that's nothing to be worried about! Here, if it makes you feel better, I'll cover you with my coat," she said, slipping out of the long white vestment as she spoke. She flung the light material out and it settled over his body, hiding almost everything from view. 3370 immediately relaxed and smiled gratefully at Melissa. It was rare that someone was so concerned for his comfort, and it made him feel pleasantly cared for.

 

"Now here's what I'm going to do." Melissa faced her subject, who was much more awake than before, and adopted a business-like tone. "We need you to be completely relaxed. So I'm going to turn the chair on. It's going to move around and position you in the spot I need you to be in, okay?" 3370 nodded and felt more at ease, knowing what was coming ahead of time. "The chair will heat up more, but it won't get painful. Then there will be some pleasant vibration along the shoulders and back. It'll feel a lot like the massage Trainer Keeloff gave you a while ago."

 

3370 nodded again and relaxed his neck, unaware that he had been straining against the head restraint. He sighed and tried to calm his racing heart. "Here we go," Melissa said in warning and flipped the switch.

 

Immediately, the chair reclined even further. 3370 restrained a moan and a sigh of comfort from the pleasant feelings roaming along his back. Once it was reclined it began to rise, and the legs of the chair began to part and bend his legs at the knees, pushing his thighs closer to his chest.

 

3370 was feeling very exposed. No matter how much he liked Melissa, she was still where she shouldn't be, with him in a position he really didn't want to be in. As if sensing his fear, Melissa spoke out to comfort him. "Just relax, baby. This is perfectly normal." She tucked her coat firmly around him, trying to keep him relaxed.

 

The chair stopped moving once it was level with Melissa's neck from her position on the stool she had taken up while it was moving. The very large cylindrical machine was on a track and could be moved back and forth for easy access. Melissa moved it forward, tugging with some effort, to come to a stop directly between 3370's parted legs.

 

The machine had recently broken a female exotic, and it was still set for one. From long practice Melissa quickly turned several reels and pulled down levers, entering complicated series of codes and making sure the internal programming was set to read male hormone levels and body functions.

 

When the last attachments and inserts were set, and 3370 was finally relaxed, Melissa's mind completely focused on the task at hand. There was something about it that always hypnotized her throughout the whole procedure.

 

Taking a tube of lubrication out of her pocket she emptied it into the machine. Seconds later, the anal insert seeped a pre-set amount. Positioning it at 3370's rectum, she halted and spoke again. "Okay, 3370. You're going to feel something cold. Now don't get nervous, you won't be hurt. I just want you to tell me when you feel something, okay?"

 

"Sure." Melissa detected uncertainty in his voice, but it 3370's mental state hardly mattered at this point. She gazed at the sight before her in appreciation a few moments before she began. 3370 was a magnificent creature. Her coat created a sort of tent and the position of the chair exposed his entire genital area to her eyes. His thighs were soft and pale, and his dark curls stood out starkly against his creamy skin. Melissa would love to have him as one of her slaves. Almost as much as she would love run her hands all over his masculinity.

 

She shook herself out of her musings. She had a job to do. Slowly, she extended the thick phallus to his tight ring and pushed. 3370 yelped. "T-trainer...! No! What - stop!" Melissa, however, was deaf to his pleas, as she was adept at blocking out an exotic's first sounds of begging. She pushed it in as far as the thing could safely go and returned her hearing to 3370's reactions. She pumped the phallus in and out, setting the machine at different heights to hit his insides at different angles. When 3370 gave a startled yelp and a barely cut-off moan of pleasure, Melissa locked the position.

 

Next, she took a small, double-cupped contraption and secured it around the specimen's testicles. This device would vibrate, massage, and bounce his balls, as well as radiate the fragile insides and make sure nothing burst, clogged, or got infected; allowing everything to stretch and accommodate more semen without damage.

 

The last stimulation that would be attached to the exotic was a long tube that completely engulfed his penis. From the base to the tip, all along the inside of the tube, his cock would be pumped, vibrated, swirled, suctioned, rubbed, and massaged. All the makings of a good blow-job.

 

Melissa double-checked everything, making sure that nothing was loose, and everything was well-lubricated. When she was satisfied she stood and returned her stool to the corner of the room. Passing 3370 on her way out the doors she grabbed her coat and returned it to her shoulders, 3370's cries of fear still falling on deaf ears.

 

"Please don't do this!"

.o.

.o.

.o.

Trainer Keeloff watched the image before him raptly, stroking his semi-erect member. The machine wasn't on yet, but monitors displayed the slave's crotch from eight different angles. Just the sight of the tensing muscles and the exotic's privates hooked up to the machine like some kind of experiment sent lustful shivers to his groin. He lightly squeezed his sac and moaned.

 

"Trainer Keeloff." The scratchy voice of Melissa sounded though the room. Obviously the intercom system wasn't as well taken care of as the other machines. "This is Technician Melissa, do you copy?"

 

Keeloff pressed a red button on his monitor pad. "Yeah, I copy."

 

"I am obligated to dictate to you, step by step, the procedure as it happens. Regardless of how many times you've seen it before." Her voice was monotonous, and it sounded as if she were reciting a speech she'd said thousands of times before.

 

"Yeah, okay. Start already." Keeloff pumped his shaft faster as the slave's encased cock rocked back and forth from the intensity of his struggles.

 

"Very well. I will begin."

.o.

.o.

.o.

There was a part of him that desperately hoped, even as he was being led to that..., that what he'd seen happen to 3369 wasn't real. How could anyone feel so... there weren't words to describe it. It was emotional pain so intense, he could hardly breathe. It was despair so strong, he wanted to leave life far, far behind.

 

He was never taught, but he knew. He knew as sure as he knew he had a tail, that what had happened a while ago was not natural. As he lay on his bed, holding down the filth the way 3369 did, trying to grab his heart and stop the pain, he knew there was no hope left. Something was missing. Something happened, he didn't know what they did to him, but it shattered something, dirtied something that was supposed to be precious.

 

Through everything - the endless day, the punishments, the long hours of exhausting and pointless exercise - he held on to that one hope he never knew was there. The same hope that his roommate had stripped from him. That something would happen, he would share something... something with someone. And it would be all he would live for.

 

But there was nothing to live for now. The only thing left... a shallow hope of praise. A kind word to ease the suffering. For now Number 3370 understood the jibes, the degradation, and what he truly was.

 

He was a slave. Though he did not know the word yet, he knew what he was. He was something to be used again and again without thought or feeling. He was to be soiled and rotten. He was to obey, without question or dignity, and without worth.

 

 

An: If you didn't figure it out, 3370 is Koga and 3369 is Hakakku. *licks lips* Lovely little wolfies.... How I would love to play with my very own 3370. Of course, he wouldn't have gone through such torture.

 

Now, there's one very special thing I want you to do for me. Here it is:

REVIEW FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!

 

Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha or any related characters.