He was still tied to the bed, as was she. Full body suits made of tight latex hugged their bodies, covering them from neck to ankles in cow print. Fitting, really, as both were being milked like cows.
“Come on, cows. Last one to fill up their container gets punished!”
Veemon shut his eyes, no longer able to bear the sight of the milker stroking away at his cock with zero regard for his pleasure – not that he wasn’t feeling any, in fact he was feeling too much of it. The first orgasm was good. He rode it for what felt like minutes before the machine coaxed a second one. After that, all he got was diminishing returns. Each climax brought with it less pleasure and more pain, along with anxiety about his inevitable punishment should he fail to fill up the machine’s container in time. How dreadful it was then that each new climax also netted a lesser amount of seed than the previous one. His failure was all but assured.
The other container was much fuller with Biyomon’s mammary secretions, at least ten times as much as the measly quantity of semen Veemon had surrendered. Of course the girls hadn’t spared her from a little overstimulation – it was only fair considering what her boyfriend was going through. A small yet powerful bullet vibrator rested against her swollen clitoris, held in place by a piece of body-safe tape.
“You really need to work harder, boy. Trust me, you don’t want to be punished when you’re this sensitive,” Gatomon said, flicking her claw over the Digimion’s abused scrotum. The mind-shattering shiver that coursed through his spine proved her point.
“And don’t start slacking off just ‘cause you’re ahead, missy.” She felt Renamon’s claws tickle and tease all around the breast pumps, moaning and giggling around her gag. The pumps collected another spurt of breast milk.
It was humiliating beyond belief. They hadn’t even left the bed after waking up. The girls were already there with the suits and machines ready for them, which they fitted on their captives with no resistance at all.
Veemon and Biyomon were as submissive as submissive could be.
Spread eagle on the large queen-sized bed, they had stopped struggling a long time ago, now only wiggling in discomfort every time their sensitivity flared up – mostly after an orgasm. Leather straps secured their necks, wrists, waists and ankles. A generous amount of lubricant had been applied over Veemon’s shaft before the clear plastic tube was given free reign to stroke and suck at it. Unstopping. Unfeeling. Just like the twin breast pumps treating Biyomon’s breasts like a cow’s udder.
“I think we should keep them liked this for a few days,” remarked Palmon. “Maybe we can milk them while they’re asleep!”
“Or unconscious,” Renamon added.
“How about we edge them for a week and then milk them the next?”
Upon hearing that, they shook violently in their bonds, shouting words that their gags turned into unintelligible yelling.
An overwhelming sense of powerlessness took them. They felt like objects. Mere playthings for the sadistic girls’ amusement. Toys for pleasure. Toys for pain. Veemon came again, though no one but him knew. His balls were empty, and so were his hopes of avoiding the promised punishment.
Biyomon’s tank reached full capacity.
They were strapped to chairs facing one another. Veemon still wore the gag from before but his girlfriend did not. Not the same one, at least. The phallic piece of rubber that plugged her beak reached upwards to cover her nostrils as well, making it more of a mask than a simple gag. A tube connected it to a transparent tank that was mounted on a tripod next to her chair. There was a one-way valve at the bottom of the tank that allowed air to flow through to her cock-gag. Next to the tank was another wheel with several sections labeled as different fluids.
The point of the game was painfully clear.
They were going to fill the tank with different fluids, and Biyomon’s air supply would get cut off until she managed to ingest whatever liquids they poured in the tank.
“This game was my idea,” beamed Renamon. Veemon felt sick to his stomach. “Now you might be wondering: didn’t I lose the game? Why is she being punished instead of me?” The tone of mockery in her voice was nothing less than revolting. “See you were going to be in her place but we figured it would be more… Oh, I don’t know. Romantic to make you watch her suffer instead.”
He let out a pathetic whimper which the girls recognized as begging. Sweet, sweet begging.
“Let’s begin!” Renamon spun the wheel. It landed on water.
The tank was filled with a litre of water – a simple enough challenge. Not that Biyomon didn’t struggle. The immediate panic that came with having one’s air supply cut off made it much difficult to not choke on the water as she gulped it down with haste.
The wheel was given a second spin. Chilli j**uice.
Veemon’s wordless begging filled the room as the girls poured bottle after bottle of the red substance into the tank. He knew Biyomon couldn’t handle a drop of it in her food, much less drink a whole bottle by itself. But they didn’t care.
She started choking as soon as the first gulp burned its way past her throat. The tank bubbled with whatever amount of air still remained in her lungs as the sounds of violent struggling filled the room – both hers and Veemon’s.
“Better keep drinking if you don’t want to choke, birdbrain!”
It wasn’t easy, but she managed to down the whole thing. The physical and mental turmoil caused by that torture meant she was a lot less able to offer resistance to the next substance they would force her to drink.
It was cum. Her boyfriend’s.
Sticky, gooey, bitter cum stood between her and being able to breathe – the very same liquid that they’d milked from him before. She swallowed it all.
Miserable, drunk, and utterly broken. That’s how Veemon would describe her from his privileged front-row seat. He himself didn’t fare better. The psychological toll he felt was worse than any physical torture he’d endured up until that point.
“Good girl!” Gatomon praised, petting Biyomon’s sweat-stained plumage. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
It dawned upon him then that all hope was meaningless. Useless. The only way to end their torment was to persevere. Defiance was pointless. Obedience and good behaviour were the only things that would alleviate the torture.
They untied them. Biyomon couldn’t walk. She couldn’t even stand.
“Be a gentleman and carry her upstairs to your bedroom. Then put on your maid clothes and start cooking lunch.”
The ease with which both him and his girlfriend adapted to their new submissive roles astounded both of them. The routine was simple: wake up, playtime, make lunch, playtime, make dinner, playtime, sleep, repeat. The torments themselves varied from day to day but they’d started to learn each girl’s preferences.
Palmon was a classic dominatrix, and the whip was her weapon of choice maintain maximum obedience at all times. She was living her best life whenever she got to make her captives do something against their will under threat of whipping. She wasn’t entirely sadistic, and could go a few sessions without having to resort to her whip at all. What she really got off on was the feeling of power, of authority. Obey, and nothing happens. Disobey and be punished. That was her modus operandi.
Renamon was all about BDSM. Straps, cuffs, latex suits, and intricate ropework. Those were her bread and butter, and she revelled in anything that involved inflicting discomfort through restriction and physical strain. Tickling was her second favourite activity. After a few days, she had thoroughly mapped the ticklishness of both of her captives. Biyomon’s large talons were her biggest weak spots, and Veemon couldn’t take being scratched on his armpits. Nothing was hotter to Renamon than bringing her tightly bound captives to tears by tickling them for hours on end.
Finally, Gatomon was the leader – and the biggest sadist. And what better game for a sadist to play than genital torture. She claimed the couple’s genitals as her own, and treated them like so. One day she was milking them like cows, either by hand or mechanically, the other she was teasing them for hours while never letting them finish. Vibrators, rings, rods, and all manner of devices that could be used to cause either pleasure or pain to Veemon’s swollen balls and Biyomon’s vaginal folds were her tools of choice.
Despite their methodical differences, the girls shared a common goal: humiliation. It was obvious that that was their true passion.
“Plehehese, stop!”
“My feet! My feeheeheet!!”
They sat on the floor, arms bound in a straitjackets and ankles put through wooden stocks. Their bare feet were placed in vise-like devices that pushed their toes back. It hurt, but that wasn’t their main concern. A pair of three-headed pinwheels assaulted their soles, paying special attention to the soft spaces underneath their bent-back digits.
“Coochie coochie coo! Who’s got the most ticklish feetsies? Is it the bird or the lizard boy?”
It was Biyomon, by a lot. Not to say Veemon’s soles weren’t sensitive as well, but he didn’t have the immaculate foot care routine that his girlfriend did. There was not a single dead skin cell protecting the many clusters of nerve-endings that lived on her soles. Prior to her impromptu stay with the girls, she had never had her feet tickled with such intensity and for such a long amount of time. She leaned on her boyfriend for comfort, staining the white canvas of his straitjacket with her tears.
A large vibrator was lodged inside her pussy, held in place by the pelvic straps of the straitjacket and set on low – enough to heighten her sense of touch but not enough to bring her to climax. A vibrating cock ring hugged the base of Veemon’s erect shaft for the same effect; Gatomon’s idea.
“Let’s try something else,” she said, swapping her pinwheels for a pair of hairbrushes. They both screamed when they felt the dense clusters of plastic bristles on their abused soles. “Yes! I knew the brushes would work great on your tender feetsies!”
“Careful now,” warned Gatomon. “Don’t want to make them cum. Although if they can cum from having their feet tickled… that’d actually be kind of impressive.”
“Right? None of our previous toys could cum from having their feet tickled!”
Neither Veemon nor Biyomon considered themselves tickle fetishists (nor any sort of fetishist, for that matter) but they couldn’t deny the eroticism in the sensation, like a very tame form of masochism, and although Biyomon was decidedly the most foot ticklish of the two, it was Veemon who was closest to climaxing. When he eventually did, the girls cheered.
“Ha! I didn’t think he’d actually do it!”
“My money was on her, honestly.”
“Should we give him a break?”
They shared a laugh.
“Nah! Tickle him harder!”
“Yeah! And her too!”
The other two girls joined in, feathers and pinwheels in hand. They spent the rest of that evening forced to laugh.
The next day they were in the stocks again (though without the toe vises this time) with a pair of space heaters facing their bare soles which glistened with sweat. The girls were nowhere to be seen.
“Argh! I-It burns! M-My talons!”
“Hang in there, honey! I bet if we’re good t-they won’t punish our feet after this!”
“It burns, it burns!”
They had been there for an hour at least. The first few minutes felt good as their feet were gently warmed up after having their maid outfit’s stockings removed. Now, after prolonged exposure to the heaters, they felt like they were being cooked alive. Their slightly swollen soles had acquired a faint red hue.
After what felt like an eternity, the girls finally waltzed in. “Hey there, lovebirds! How are we doing?” Palmon had her whip and Renamon had her tickle tools. They knew what was coming.
“Please! My feet hurt so bad! Make it stop!”
To their surprise, the heaters were actually turned off.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Biyomon frantically said as she alleviated the pain on her feet by rubbing them together.
“Don’t thank us just yet, birdy. We’re just moving on to the next stage of your torment.” Renamon took a long white feather and dragged it across Biyomon’s left talon from heel to toes.
“NOOOHOHOHO! STAHP!”
A devious smile spread across Renamon’s muzzle. “Perfect!”
At that moment they were both thrust into the deepest pit of foot torture hell. Renamon ditched the feather right away and brought back the brushes from the previous day, tickling both of Biyomon’s sensitised soles simultaneously.
“NO! NO! NOHOHOAHAHAHA!!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. Her body shut off all other sensations to process the overwhelming tickles radiating from her soles, making them the singular focus of her mind. The sensation was indescribable. Like burning, shocking, and icing all at once. She tried to instinctively cover one sole with the other, but it was no use, Renamon would simply set both brushes on that sole until it stopped protecting its twin.
Veemon was arguably receiving an even worse treatment. “Ow! Ow! Please, stop!” he begged as the whip lashed his soles until he cried.
The heaters had tenderised their soles to an absurd degree. Every sensation was now felt with a thousand times the intensity it would have otherwise. Biyomon was bawling her eyes out as Renamon swapped the brushes for pinwheels, and then for a pair of forks. Veemon had stopped begging a long time ago, and simply lay limp as the whip turned his soles into a canvas painted with painful red marks.
The first five minutes broke them, the hour after that was just pure cruelty. Biyomon passed out from sheer exhaustion first and Veemon went soon after the started tickling his feet – which were extra tenderised from the whipping they had received.
That day marked the most intense foot torture the girls had subjected them to up until that point – though it certainly wouldn’t be the last.
It was the first time she was let outside in a couple of days. That would’ve been a good thing if she wasn’t tied up naked in the middle of the night. While Veemon had been granted the privilege of sleeping indoors, she had not, on account of failing to obey an order. This was her punishment.
Her legs were held apart by two metallic cuffs erected a meter above the ground. From the cuffs came a metallic frame the supported her legs, leaving her sitting in an elevated position with her genitals on full display in the dead of night.
As the sun rose, someone left the house and moved towards her. It was Palmon.
“Sleep well, birdbrain?”
She shivered. “N-No…”
“Good. That’s what you get for disobeying a direct order. Have you thought about what you did?”
“Y-Yes…”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, mistress.”
“Good girl.” She patted her head. “But I’m not entirely convinced.” She unrolled her whip.
“Please! Please, I’ll be good! I promise!”
“I know you will, but Renamon and Gatomon told me to make sure.”
THWACK! The whipped cracked across her breasts. She screamed. THWACK! Her thigh. THWACK! Genitals.
She sobbed. “Please, please, please!” was all she could say as the whip sampled her flesh from every angle imaginable. Not even her ultra-sensitive soles were spared. THWACK! THWACK! “Pleeheheaasee!!!”
“Let me think about it while I play with these…”
“Nohohohoho!”
She tickled Biyomon’s feet, now. Whatever the cold had to numb their sensitivity was swiftly undone by the whip. The poor bird was quickly starting to hate having her feet tickled.
“Will you be a good girl?”
“YEHEHES!!”
“Will you do whatever we say?”
“YEHEHEHES!! PLEHEHEASE!!”
“Good girl!”
The tickling finally stopped. She was untied and led back to the house where her maid outfit await her as well as new opportunities to slip up and earn herself another night out in the cold.
Whenever they weren’t being used as playthings by the girls, they were dressed up as maids and doing miscellaneous tasks around the house. They guessed the girls just enjoyed seeing them work in those outfits and they were completely right.
Just after lunch, they were tasked with cleaning the living room before their afternoon session when one of the girls noticed something interesting about Biyomon: she kept staring at her boyfriend’s stockinged legs. Not just a quick glance either, but a full stop to her tasks while she thought he wasn’t looking. Gatomon was certainly looking.
“Fancy your boyfriend in those clothes, eh?”
“W-Wha…? Oh, no! I-I mean-”
“Ah! Don’t lie to me, birdy! Do you want another night out in the cold?”
“N-No!”
“So tell me then. Do you like seeing Veemon wearing those?”
“Well, it’s not really about the outfit…” she admitted bashfully, lowering her voice. “It’s the stockings. They’re… pretty, I guess?”
“Are they, now?” Gatomon laughed. “Do you want to play with them?”
Her heart skipped a beat. It was hard enough to admit to such a strange attraction, let alone asking to indulge in it. “Maybe?”
That was all the affirmation Gatomon needed. In mere minutes, Biyomon was stripped naked and laying on the floor with her boyfriend still in stockings.
“Uhm… what should I do now, mistress?” Veemon asked sheepishly, unsure as to why he was ordered to keep his stockings on.
“Lift your leg and show her your foot.”
Veemon was more than a little puzzled by that order, but he obeyed anyway. As soon as he lifted his leg and exposed the sole of his stockinged foot Biyomon, her gaze became fixated on it – like she was eyeing a juicy steak.
“Wiggle your toes.”
He did. His claws pulled on the fabric of the stockings, making them interact with the curves of his sole and arch in mesmerising ways that captivated Biyomon.
“Biyomon, are you… enjoying this?” he asked, not daring to lower his foot.
She didn’t answer. Not out of embarrassment but because she was too entranced by the show unfolding in front of her to form a sentence.
“Touch her pussy with your foot.”
“W-what?”
“Do it! Or Palmon will whip you!”
“Eek!” He obeyed, gently placing his foot between Biyomon’s legs gently so as to not hurt her. It was soaking wet.
“Ah~ R-Rub it on my pussy! Please!”
Who was this perverted women? Surely not Biyomon. The Biyomon he knew would never be into this… right? Did the last few days of captivity change her somehow? Did it change him as well? Ordinarily he would never do something like this, but right now he was frantically rubbing his stockinged foot over her genitals, gently dipping her toes past its entrance.
Was this what the girls wanted? Not merely to use them as playthings but to taint their once squeaky clean psyches with their strange tastes? He didn’t know, but that mattered little right now. All that mattered was pleasuring his girlfriend. After all, if he does a good job, they might do something about the raging boner standing between his legs.