Gina slowly began to realize that the Thumpers had merely been toying with the girls for the first few minutes of their ride. After their brief initial warm-up, the machines were beginning to reach their full stride.
The footage onscreen was particularly difficult for Gina to watch at the moment, as the screen was currently split between a live of her ongoing penetration, with frequent changes in camera angle, and a closeup of her own face. She nearly fainted when she observed how fast the anal phallus was moving as it drove in and out of her backside.
The dildos fucking her cunt and ass had become an indistinguishable blur, driving in and out of her holes with a rhythm comparable to that of a machine gun.
Her only options were to watch and suck.
Gina felt successive waves of shame wash over her as she found herself forced to actively and enthusiastically participate in her own rape, tenderly pleasuring oral extension of the oversized sex toy raping her as if it were the love of her life.
The machine known as Thunderbird was a generous lover, and Gina had no choice but to reciprocate its artificial affections. She truly needed to give her all to please Thunderbird, and she couldn't shake the nagging sensation in the back of her mind that she deserved and needed every bit of discipline, chastisement, and guidance the machine provided to her.
Her second orgasm arrived quickly to reinforce this dismaying sentiment. She couldn't deny how much the additional layer of humiliation was exciting her.
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The author of this story has read and accepted the rules for posting stories. They guarantee that the following story depicts none of the themes listed in the Forbidden Content section of the rules.
The following story is a work of fiction meant for entertainment purposes only. It depicts nonconsensual sexual acts between adults. It is in no way meant to be understood as an endorsement of nonconsensual sex in real life. Any similarities of the characters in the story to real people are purely coincidental.
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Index:
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
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The Thumper: A Rape Machine for the Modern Girl
Chapter 1
Gina still hadn't become accustomed to walking in high heels. Though she had made an earnest effort during her last days of freedom to conform to the administration's increasingly exaggerated standards of femininity, her fate had already been sealed by the time she embarked upon a course of lifestyle changes that had at any rate been too little and too late.
At the dawn of the era of livestreamed mass correctional rape, the thought that such changes might have been recognized or even noticed by the authorities might have seemed adorably naive. Yet she was in no frame of mind to rebuke herself for having previously underestimated the hopelessness of her situation, as the dire reality of serving as an example of the regime's new approach to correction had a tendency to push thoughts of the past out of a girl's mind.
On a frigid morning in March she would become acquainted with the truth of the regime's new ideal of femininity and womanhood. Femininity meant abject submission to constant rape. It meant the total obliteration of the self and the permanent loss of dignity, agency, and self-respect.
The Thumper was the apotheosis of the ideology that now ruled Gina's life. To describe it as a rape machine would be a gross injustice and a crass failure of imagination. Such a description would deny the loving craftsmanship and painstaking engineering that their designers had invested to advance the inexorable purpose of utterly ruining countless helpless and innocent women.
The appellation of "Thumper" was itself an insult, an affectionately dumbed-down lowbrow moniker that had taken hold among the lower levels of Corrections personnel. The engineers and their patrons hadn't managed to make any proposed official title stick in the public consciousness. They had kept the first decade of the machines' development a nominal if poorly-guarded secret, offering the public no opportunity to opine on the matter of their collective name.
Insofar as it descended from the various makeshift dildonic appliances of the early 21st century, the Thumper was something new and unrecognizable. Rather than a single device, it was a system of interconnected devices that operated in coordination with one another. Every shaft, probe, and mechanical arm comprising a component of the system embodied a futuristic aesthetic, an aesthetic dominated by sleek contours, reflective aluminum and eggshell-like matte white plastic superstructure. Every length of electrical wire and pneumatic tubing was neatly bundled or tastefully concealed. Far from the idle fantasy of a fetishist with a knack for hardware and far too much free time, the Thumper was no mere sex toy. It was a sports car, a technological marvel with a design that conveyed an aura of unattainability for the average beholder.
Gina had seen countless images of the machines in an idle state over the course of her captivity, and her wardens had forced her to study them in terms she could barely understand. A prisoner's reeducational curriculum typically involved abstract equations analyzing the machine's capabilities, ideological essays and lectures regarding their merits, and lively discussions focused on their psychological effects. The concept behind the machines intimidated and terrified her, to say the least. Yet nothing could prepare her for the heartbreak and soul-crushing terror of confronting one in person for the first time.
She hadn't worn a scrap of respectable clothing in months prior to the evening of her debut performance, yet on this occasion her handlers had forced her to primp for the viewers and dress in the same outfit she had worn during her last day as a free woman. They forced her to dress in clothes that now felt both forbidden and alien to her, purely so they could subject her to the added humiliation of stripping for her audience before the start of her ride.
Gina stared downward as the handsome, officious young guard handling her leash led her into the large, circular chamber where she was set to perform. Three of the forbidding machines had been prepped and readied on the raised circular platform in the middle of the room, surrounded by tiers of ampitheater-style seating. The setting was sterile and clinical, a repurposed operating theater in what had once been a public hospital.
She had been permitted to choose whether she would walk upright or crawl on all fours on her way to the platform. There was no benefit in choosing to crawl save that of displaying a positive and submissive attitude towards her handlers, yet she had seen women choose the option of crawling more times than she could count.
Gina wasn't ready to crawl yet.
Since the evening of her arrest, the other inmates had given advice to her through various discreet means. The facility only allowed its girls to converse at certain specific times, and the Corrections staff monitored their speech carefully. Girls who flouted the rules, knowingly or otherwise, often found themselves forced to wear gags for days at a time. Whispers could easily be overheard or reported, and could only be used sparingly. The girls had devised subtler means of communication in the form of certain types of touch, gentle or emphatic nudges, and well-timed whistles and other seemingly innocuous vocalizations.
From the beginning of Gina's imprisonment, her fellow inmates had urged her not to surrender her dignity too quickly. She needed to make the guards earn it from her. The other girls advised her thus not in the spirit of solidarity or defiance, but simple pragmatism. If a new girl behaved in the manner of a broken, submissive slut too readily, she would risk providing unsatisfactory sport for the guards and might even come across as insincere, provoking exceptional and disproportionate abuse and humiliation from her tormentors.
Pride was a luxury that Gina could scarcely afford, yet in the interest of self-preservation she frequently found herself living well beyond her means.
As she sucked the Corrections officers' cocks one after another, day after day, she remembered to occasionally flash a brief defiant glance, her green eyes sparkling as they caught glimmers of the oppressive yet unsteady and flickering fluorescent lights overhead.
The officers didn't always take notice of her glances. However, she had no difficulty identifying when they took notice, as they would reward her defiance with a stroke to the back or shoulders from the floggers and riding crops they carried on their belts. Her lovely, voluminous auburn tresses fell about shoulders perpetually covered in the marks and imprints left by their disciplinary instruments.
The sting of the whips frequently lasted for hours, though Corrections had designed these tools to inflict minimal lasting damage and they were rarely capable of breaking skin. Though they had crueler whips and canes available, the standard kiss of the flogger was nothing more than a simple chastisement and a reminder that punishment could always be declared swiftly and arbitrarily, without warning.
Though strokes to her shoulders, her back, and her firm, inviting breasts could be tolerable and mildly titillating, Gina absolutely hated having her pussy whipped. While the harder slaps overwhelmed her senses with pain, she feared the gentler, teasing slaps just as much. She hated herself for becoming visibly wet during each session. She despised her body for reacting to the pain, fear, and humiliation in exactly the way her tormentors demanded.
She knew that each punishment was a small step in a greater overall program of physical and psychological conditioning. Between punishments and grueling shifts of sweatshop labor came intensive and degrading classroom sessions, attended alongside countless other girls packed in tightly enough to eradicate any sense of personal space. Like many other prisoners, she was often forced to submit to these learning sessions with no opportunity to clean the cum off of her face, tits, body, and hair. Every girl would occasionally show up to class with a pussy still dribbling cum from a thorough, intensive fucking. Nearly every girl arrived in a state of sexual overstimulation, confused and aroused.
The instructors taught them that arousal was a natural, instinctive female response to pain, fear, humiliation, and every other aspect of domination by males. Her mind rebelled to these teachings reflexively, yet her body seemed determine to prove them right every time they abused her.
What irked Gina most of all was the smug, self-satisfied attitude the officers presented in response to every physical and emotional reaction they coaxed from her. They took joy in ceaselessly reminding her that she was utterly predictable. Each time she managed to shock and horrify herself, she observed that she was not only failing to surprise them, but that she was also reassuring them and bolstering their confidence in their own ideals, presumptions that seemed utterly twisted and unfounded at first glance.
Thus her new life filled her with a constant sense of dread and doubt in herself as well as doubt in the entirety of her sex. The aspect of this life that confused her most of all was that of her interactions with the model prisoners, the ones who had made the most progress towards the goal of "reform" in accord with the administration's ideals.
One such prisoner, a younger woman by the name of Amanda Garner, was already on the central platform as the guards led Gina into the ampitheater. Gina blushed as she observed the reformed prisoner onstage wearing nothing but a collar and a pair of white pumps identical to her own. Amanda was hard at work performing a series of lewd acts with the various probes and extensors attached to the imposing sex machines which were arrayed in a tricorn formation pointed at the center of the stage.
Amanda was a beautiful woman, as were most of the prisoners at their facility. This particular prison had the designated purpose of housing conventionally attractive females. Most were under the age of thirty. While not all of them were athletic, the facility's harsh exercise and labor regimen ensured that they would meet a rigid standard of physical fitness within a few months of their arrival.
Gina and her fellow prisoners served as the public face of the administration's efforts to rehabilitate the female sex, enduring public humiliation and providing both sexualized public entertainment and direct sexual services on behalf of the state.
To help promote a sexually hypercharged environment for the prisoners, most of the assigned guards had also been selected for conventional attractiveness and physical fitness. However, the wardens retained a small proportion of older and more average officers on staff, to remind the prisoners that they would never enjoy the privilege of selectiveness in terms of whom they serviced. Cunts like Gina would ultimately serve the greater public, and the wardens had designed their training to nurture and develop instincts and patterns of sexual promiscuity that could easily be described as nymphomania.
Each Thumper's rider would be bound to a bench that served as the focal point of each machine's configuration, leaving her restrained and helpless while the probes penetrated and ravaged her body. The subject typically spent the ride with an additional probe positioned near her face, which could be used to rape the subject orally or could remain stationary, presenting the subject with the task of actively participating in her own rape by actively fellating the imposing phallic apparatus.
Amanda was kneeling on one of the benches, the machine's arms positioned behind and in front of her in an inactive state, backing her body onto the probes behind her, using them to fuck herself while she sucked on the probe addressing her face.
The officer holding Gina's leash halted and observed patiently for a few moments as Amanda dismounted from one of the probes, a wet popping sound emerging from her pussy. She hurriedly stepped down onto the floor from her bench, rushed over to another machine's bench and backed herself onto one of the technologically sophisticated yet unmistakably phallic probes mounted on the other machine's arm.
She began fucking herself vigorously while voraciously sucking on another phallic extension positioned in front of her face, eagerly rocking back and forth as if she was trying to prove her sincerity to the machines themselves and not just to the officers watching over her.
The officer holding Gina's leash was running out of patience.
"Enjoying ourselves, aren't we, cunt? Please don't tell me you haven't finished calibrating."
The phallus popped out of Amanda's mouth as she turned her head towards him.
"This stupid cunt is sorry, Sir! Just finishing the last checks!"
Gina shuddered. The chirpy, bubbly tone in Amanda's voice never failed to chill her and the structure and protocols that informed Amanda's patterns of speech never ceased to mortify her.
Someday Gina would be required to abandon the use of personal pronouns and refer to herself in the demeaning, objectifying terms assigned to her. Sometimes a girl was a stupid cunt. Sometimes she was a dumb bitch. Sometimes she was a horny slut. The assigned descriptors would change arbitrarily and without warning. Yet the girls who spoke them recited them as if they were terms of endearment.
Amanda always seemed to smile when she called herself a stupid cunt. Even when she attempted to appear solemn, contrite, ashamed, disappointed, or afraid, she seemed to be making an effort to suppress a smile as it crept around the corners of her lips.
Gina wondered if she herself would have been able to avoid laughing when forced to constantly refer to herself in the same manner, once she had "earned" her own degrading labels from the wardens. She couldn't deny that she observed a certain dark, absurdist humor in it. Perhaps after her exhausting months of constant exposure to male laughter at the sight of formerly proud and independent women reduced to groveling sex slaves, some aspect of their sadistic mirth had begun to rub off onto her.
The officer tapped his foot, nodding slightly in Amanda's direction.
"Redundant checks. The algorithms will handle the remaining calibration steps. The ride will be uncomfortable at first, but the 4.7 firmware isn't what you're used to. It adapts amazingly fast. Now, come down and show this one some support."
He emphasized the phrase "this one" with a quick jerk of Gina's leash. Gina responded with a nervous, unconvincing attempt at a smile.
Amanda bolted on command from her kneeling position spit-roasted between the two mechanical arms, and half-skipped and half-ran towards Gina. She hugged Gina warmly and tightly, making a conspicuous display of pressing her breasts and hips hard against Gina's.
"Oh my God, Gina, is it already time for your first ride! Time goes by so fast!"
Amanda sighed for a moment and then giggled.
"I can't believe you're assigned to number six! Isn't he gorgeous?"
Gina looked around confusedly for a moment before Amanda tilted her shoulders and head in the direction of the machine she had just been fucking. The control panel that formed the nexus of the system stood on a wheeled pedestal-like chassis with the number "6" painted brightly on its frame. Gina was aware that the inmates had been required to decorate the machines, and number six had been dubbed "Thunderbird" after the girls painted various elements of its plastic and metal casing with streaks of lightning and eye-catching flares contrived to resemble feathers morphing and blending into walls of flame.
Gina stared at the machine, eager to focus her eyes on anything other than Amanda's unnervingly sincere smile and her naked, physically fit, and well-proportioned body. As an experienced sex slave, Amanda's body was relatively unmarked in comparison to the newer prisoners.
She still showed signs of rough handling, displaying a few cane and lash marks on her breasts, thighs, and buttocks, the telltale redness on her smoothly shaven pubic mound that signaled a recent cunt whipping, and a few bruises and abrasions on her shoulders, back, and calves.
Yet while the guards treated a new girl's body as a canvas, painting her skin with sadistic abandon and leaving no part of her unblemished, a girl as obedient as Amanda sported only a few sparse stripes and welts and wore them proudly as decorative flair.
Amanda seemed to interpret Gina's nervous stammering as an invitation to speak further.
"They've also got Pretty Boy and Lothario up there. They're good rides, but T-bird is mine. He's my boyfriend. You're lucky I'm sharing him with you!" She flashed a naughty grin.
The officer gave Gina's leash another tug, indicating that he wanted to hear a response.
"I... uh... thank you. Aman - ah... thank you, stupid cunt." She smiled and nodded halfheartedly.
Amanda's eyes sparkled brightly and she beamed proudly, clasping her hands in front of her bare breasts and rising briefly onto her tiptoes with a brief hop. She was somewhat shorter than Gina and seemed to be making an effort to ensure that their eyes were level with one another.
"You're so welcome, Gina! You have no idea! This is going to be the most amazing experience of your life!"
Another chill ran down Gina's spine. Amanda appeared to be almost completely insane.
"I... ah... really?"
"You'll understand soon, Gina. He's not a toy. He's a lover. He understands your needs."
Gina stared disbelievingly at what appeared to be a collection of unfamiliar assembly line robots, lovingly decorated yet confoundingly bizarre and unnatural.
"Hey, Gina! Eyes here!" Amanda snapped her fingers, drawing Gina's attention back to her unnervingly bright and cheerful face.
Suddenly their bodies pressed together tightly once again as Amanda leaned forward and embraced Gina. Amanda's warm skin practically felt as if it were tingling, though it may have been nothing more than residual twitching after extensive testing of the Thumpers' electrodes on her eager and receptive if overstimulated body.
As Gina felt Amanda's plump breasts pressing against her body she noted that they were surprisingly firm for their size. They had grown noticeably since the first time Gina and Amanda met. The growth was a common phenomenon among long-time prisoners, the result of groundbreaking gene editing techniques.
A new prisoner subjected to the treatment could easily find the mass and volume of her tits doubling or even tripling within the first year. Within 24 months the majority of prisoners would find that their busts had grown to truly remarkable proportions, almost cartoonish proportions in certain instances, with no surgery or prosthetic augmentation required. The regime had developed methods of altering a woman's DNA to change the way her body stored and distributed fat, with a heavy bias towards the breasts and buttocks.
In conjunction with a highly specialized diet, a punishing exercise regimen, and supplemental hormone therapy, the treatments enabled girls to maintain slender figures while also sporting ample curves, granting them the top-heavy yet narrow-waisted physiques that countless women had spent their lives longing for yet few could have ever hoped to achieve in the outside world.
Gina's tits were beginning to expand as well, and the process was not comfortable by any means. Yet even she couldn't honestly assert that the resulting changes to her figure were entirely unwelcome. She had even found herself excited at times by the added bounce and counterweight in her every step.
Amanda caressed Gina's body tenderly, running her hands up and down Gina's sides, then wandering over the bare skin of her arms and legs, feeling Gina quiver intermittently as the touch raised goosebumps on her flesh
Gina was not a lesbian by any means, yet an affectionate touch was always a welcome respite from the pain and degradation that encompassed her life. Though Amanda's eagerness caused her to recoil initially, Amanda appeared to recognize a hint of affection in her eyes, and lowered the tone and volume of her voice to a sultry whisper.
"Don't look so forlorn, Gina. A positive attitude will make this a lot easier for you. And anyway... you might not want to hear this, but... it's the only option."
End of chapter 1
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