The Training Room
Orgasm.
Yes. That extreme pleasure felt when sexual arousal reaches its absolute peak.
I had never been with a man, but I had experienced it now and then while masturbating. Of course, it was never something that simply happened on its own. It required proper foreplay, long stretches of caressing, and videos to feed the imagination—and even then, only if I got truly lucky. That was why this particular experience…
…was the worst.
“Hah… ah. Ahhn… ugh…! Hnngh…”
I had been drowning in orgasm for what felt like forever, and even though I was still bound in that uncomfortable position I kept twitching, completely ruled by the aftershocks.
What came down on me next was Leviathan’s scathing mockery.
“Heh. Yesterday, what was it again? Said you weren’t the type? A bitch who gets off while shitting filthy things out her asshole… heh heh, unbelievable.”
“Nngh… hah…!”
“You masochist pervert bitch. Don’t even try that half-assed resistance. You paid money to throw away your human rights—you’re the biggest freak of them all.”
“Uuh… uuh… hic… hic…”
Tears spilled out. I had nothing to say back. If I truly weren’t a masochist, I never would have felt it like this. Coming from someone who knew just how hard it was to reach orgasm, the words struck dead center.
The other inmates were the same. Whether they took the insults aimed at me as their own or not, both A522 and A711 flushed red and kept twitching through their own orgasms.
…Yeah. That was why we were here.
“We’ve got a newcomer, so things ran long. All right. I’m unlocking you now—stand up straight.”
Once the enema was finished, Leviathan released our handcuffs and ankle restraints. They came off with almost absurd ease. No keys needed. He simply raised a remote and pressed a button, and every restraint unlocked at once.
Arms and legs that had been locked in place for so long finally free, my shoulders and joints throbbed instead. I wanted nothing more than to stretch and work the stiffness out, but freedom like that was never going to be granted to inmates like us.
“A522, A711.”
“Yes.”
“Throw what you shit out into the trash. A713’s too.”
“Yes!”
At his order A522 approached the lump I had expelled. It was mortifying and shameful, yet she gave a small nod as if to say it was fine and picked it up without hesitation. Thankfully the mass had solidified; even when she gripped it with her bare hand, nothing smeared or stuck. I had no idea how it worked, but maybe it was some kind of hygiene measure.
Once everything was cleaned up, Leviathan called us together.
“Morning roll call ends here. This week’s schedule is training to turn you lust-defeated bitches into proper sexual tools. A522.”
“Yes!”
“Oral Onahole Position.”
“Yes! Ah—”
The moment we gathered, Leviathan summoned A522 and gave the order. Even the name alone treated us as nothing more than sexual implements. But there was no need to wonder.
A522 dropped to her knees without a second’s hesitation, twisted both arms behind her back as if already bound, and opened her mouth wide, tongue thrust out with a thick pool of saliva. The faint foam of spit on her lips only made the whole picture more lewd. A posture ready to receive a man. Even as another woman looking at her, the hole she presented was captivating.
“A713. That is the Oral Onahole Position. Understood?”
“…Yes.”
“You’ll need it for today’s training, so remember it.”
“…Understood.”
“A522. Return.”
“Return!”
With the crisp call-and-response you might hear in the military, A522 rose again. Because she had dropped into the pose so quickly, her knees were already flushed red. The ease with which she could assume such a decadent posture… one year of experience had turned her into the very image of the wretched inmate I used to watch in videos.
“All right. Follow me.”
“Yes.”
After the brief demonstration we set off again. We walked a long corridor for quite a while until we reached the open courtyard we had passed yesterday. Another path branched off beside it. From what I could tell, the prison’s interior radiated outward from that courtyard in all four directions, zones divided by purpose like the points of a compass.
In the videos those zones had been called “Areas,” hadn’t they?
Confinement Area.
Torture Area.
Training Area.
Execution Area.
For reference, the cells and the place where we had just been forced to defecate both belonged to the Confinement Area. So where were we headed now?
…Judging by the name, the Training Area, most likely.
“This way.”
Exactly as I had guessed. Past the courtyard and down one corridor, an open doorway revealed all sorts of gym equipment inside—ordinary machines mixed with things I had never seen before. There was also what looked like an indoor pool and a set of horizontal bars. Anyone could tell it suited the name “Training Area.”
Leviathan led us past those various spaces and stopped in front of a large room. He halted at the door and sent us in first.
“Inside.”
“Yes.”
The door was already open. When we entered, inmates who had arrived earlier were already in place—more than twenty at a rough count. Every one of them knelt facing the wall, barely breathing. And one more person.
“Leviathan, which cell?”
“Yes, Shatan-nim. Cell 3.”
“I heard there’s a newcomer.”
“Yes. A713 over there.”
In the center of the room stood a tall man in uniform. A guard I had never seen before. They called him Shatan.
“Right. Looks green. A688 was a re-inmate, so she didn’t have that fresh flavor. Heh heh. All right, you mazo bitches! Get to your places and sit!”
“Yes!”
Whoever he was, we had to obey. In here a guard’s order was law; the right to choose simply did not exist for us. And… choice aside, the remote in Shatan’s hand had been bothering me from the moment we stepped into the room. He deliberately dangled it so we would see it—the same kind of remote Leviathan used to activate the Stimulation Spores.
At Shatan’s command A522 moved first. She wove through the tightly packed inmates until she found an empty spot. On the wall in front of where she sat hung a neon sign reading [A522]. I realized that was the “place” Shatan had meant.
A711 seemed a little lost at first but soon found her own spot as well. Then where was mine? I rolled my eyes across the empty places, hunting for my number. Luckily it wasn’t hard. The numbers looked jumbled, but they generally ran from low to high, so once I checked around A711 I spotted mine. I hurried over and sat among the inmates already in place.
“A few still haven’t arrived, so face the wall and wait. Make any unnecessary noise and you’ll regret it!”
At Shatan’s warning I held my breath and stared at the wall. The neon sign glowing with the number [A713]. Only a single day had passed, yet the inmate number that had replaced my real name already felt strangely familiar.
Then—
“…!”
Someone’s hand brushed my thigh. Packed shoulder-to-shoulder among the other inmates, I first thought it was just skin touching skin. But the sensation sliding across my flesh felt oddly familiar. Deliberate. A caress. After Shatan’s warning I couldn’t take my eyes off the wall, yet I soon understood the meaning written into that touch.
You okay?
A short message carrying so much. Even without seeing her I knew who it was. Not A522 or A711, who shared my cell on this Prison Island—the only other person who would approach me.
I carefully laid my hand on her thigh in return, tracing letters with the lightest touch.
I’m fine. A688, right?
Yeah. You remember.
I could picture A688’s face even without seeing her expression. She was probably smiling. Only a day had passed, yet the reunion already made a smile rise on my own lips.
Talk casual. Easier.
I had answered politely out of the gratitude I still carried, but A688 told me to drop the formal speech instead. Fair enough—short casual words were better for this awkward finger-writing.
OK. Done this before?
Yeah. Hard. Sucking dildos. Just hit the count.
Simple, but it contained everything I needed to know. Having a re-inmate like A688 as a peer was an enormous advantage. Better to know exactly how hard it would be than to face the terror of total ignorance.
There wasn’t time for more conversation, though.
“You mazo bitches who just walked in! Find your places and sit!”
The last group had arrived. Because of them the wall in front of us filled solid with inmates. In that cramped space where shoulders pressed against shoulders, a brief silence settled and tension coiled through the air.
Then Shatan’s explanation continued.
“From now on, dildos will come out in front of you bitches. They’re molded from the cocks of the guards and the VIPs who sponsor this prison.”
“….”
“You will suck them the set number of times. The count you complete will show on the neon sign in front of you. And some of you already know this, but… if your lips don’t touch the base of the dildo, it doesn’t count!”
In short: suck them properly. On the wall ahead, beneath the neon sign, a small square recess was visible. That was probably where the dildos would emerge. A flicker of fear ran through me. I had never sucked a dildo in my life. I had never even seen a real man’s cock; the very idea of a dildo was foreign. The toys I used for masturbation were mostly contact vibrators you could buy online, and the closest I ever came to insertion was sliding my own fingers in and out.
…If I’d known it would come to this, I should have bought at least one dildo…
A small regret rose, but it was far too late now.
“The number you have to hit will be displayed on the wall. The moment the dildos come out, start! I’ll check every hour. The five farthest behind get Demeanor Penalty Points and corporal punishment, so do it right! Understood?”
“Yes!”
Every inmate shouted as one in answer to Shatan. Voices thick with tension rang out once, and a moment later a mechanical sound rose from the wall.
Fighting.
You too.
Was that the calm of someone who had already been through it? Right before the start, A688 sent me encouragement. I answered in kind and watched the dildo slowly emerge from the opening in the wall in front of me.
An ugly glans. Then the shaft all the way to the base. The dildo jutted out a little higher than mouth level for someone on her knees. Its shape was a slightly upward-curving erection.
But that thing…
“Ugh…”
I recoiled without meaning to—it was huge. Horribly, impossibly huge. The girth alone was enough to make me afraid of putting it in my mouth. They said it was molded from a real person’s cock, yet something so large it cast a shadow across my face made me doubt it could even exist.
Startled by the size, I glanced sideways. A688 was looking my way with a worried expression. Of course she was… hers was within a normal range, while mine was so big that even a glance made it hard to ignore. By eye, mine looked easily twice the size of hers.
“All right! Fix your posture! Both arms in at-ease position! Anyone whose form breaks or who stops gets an electric shock right away! Begin!”
I locked into position at Shatan’s command. In that same moment the inmate number that had been glowing on the neon sign vanished, replaced by a countdown starting from 10.
10… 9… 8…
I counted along in my head while I waited. To suck the dildo I had to lift my hips a little; once I settled into the pose I could meet the neon sign’s gaze again.
It’s starting. No matter how hard it is… I have to do it. Otherwise…!
Fear of punishment and terror of penalty points pressed in. Even though I had come here to be subjected to this, the reality was far more vicious than anything I had seen in videos. True inmates stripped of human rights, with no free will left. The brutal treatment they received planted a deep resolve to avoid punishment at all costs. More than anything, the knowledge that I would have to endure plays like this morning’s forced enema—completely against my will and without any safe word—made me desperate to escape them. Taking a punishment like that… was simply too frightening.
3… 2… 1…
The start arrived before I knew it. I opened my mouth and prepared.
0… — Beep.
“Ah…!”
The instant I saw the number I had been given, I froze solid.
…Suck it ten thousand times?
Far more than I had imagined. I looked sideways; everyone had the same number.
“Slurp— mmph…! Schlick…! Chup!”
“Mmph— tsuup… chup…! Chup!”
“Tsuup! Tsuup! Tsuup!”
But the numbers changed almost at once. Every inmate except me began rocking her head back and forth, sucking the dildos.
Everyone’s count plummeted. Thrown into a competition that wasn’t quite a competition, the women whipped their heads with the sheer will to survive somehow.
…I have to do it!
Their urgency infected me too. Right. Open my mouth as wide as it will go. I closed my lips around the glans.
“Ahmph…!”
Then I slowly pushed the dildo toward my throat.
Ugh— I’m going to throw up!
The long shaft hit my uvula and a wave of nausea surged up. But I couldn’t stop there. The neon sign in front of me still read [10,000]. To subtract even one count I had to swallow the dildo all the way to the base.
“Gguh! Mmph!”
No matter how hard I forced it down my throat, my lips still wouldn’t reach the root. If I could just take a little more… it felt like I might somehow touch it…!
I opened my throat bit by bit toward the base I could see, sucking with my tongue as I tried to swallow the cock-shaped dildo. The result of taking it until I was on the verge of vomiting was…
“Keh…! Haa. Haa. Ugh… ugh…!”
Still stuck at the starting line.