How many days had it been since the girls arrived? A month? Two months? Veemon had lost track of time, and with his phone in the girls’ clutches, he had no way to tell how long had passed. He hoped the three months were almost over. And yet, a small yet growing part of his mind nagged away at him with a possibility he did his best to ignore: what if the girls were lying? What if they intended to keep him and Biyomon forever? He willed that terrible thought away and tried to focus on the vibrator currently pressed snugly against his balls.
He was mounted upside down on the living room wall like a simple decoration, but not before the girls forced him to wear a tight, full-body latex suit. It was tight, hot, and sweaty, but that was the least of his problems right now.
“Mhnff!!” he moaned into the ball gag.
There was no one in the living room. Apparently the girls had decided to leave him like that and spend the day elsewhere in the house, tormenting Biyomon, he guessed.
He felt the familiar build up of an orgasm rise and rise in his groin. It might’ve been an encouraging feeling if he hadn’t already felt it a hundred times that day. The low intensity of the vibrator combined with the constriction that the latex applied around his crotch – not even letting his cock grow to a full erection – meant that as soon as the build up passed a certain point, it plateaued for a few agonizing moments before crumbling back down.
He bucked and tried to hump the vibrator, but there was nothing to hump as it merely pressed against his perineum. He would not be able to orgasm from that sort of stimulation and he knew it.
With a sad, pathetic whimper, he gave up and hung limp from the wall mounts and let the unavoidable treatment continue, painfully aware of how powerless he was to stop it.
He only hoped Biyomon wasn’t suffering as much.
Meanwhile, in the basement, the girls had just finished forcing Biyomon into a bent-over position with her arms tied behind her back, fully exposing her naked body.
Palmon stood beside her with her trusty whip in hand while Renamon and Gatomon circled their prey, building up anticipation.
“Here’s what’s gonna happen, birdy,” said Gatomon. “We’re going to touch you, wherever and however you want. Nothing new, right?” They shared a devious giggle. “But here’s the catch: every time we make you sing, Palmon will punish you. So stay quiet. Got that?”
“Y-ye– OW!”
The whip bit her left buttock.
“What the fuck did I just say? Stay. Quiet.” Gatomon yelled, yanking the poor girl’s head by the feathers and forcing her to make eye contact. “Got that!?” She gave a silent nod, not daring to utter a sound. “Good birdy!”
Unable to contain herself any longer, Renamon began groping and squeezing the girl’s sides madly. Biyomon could barely suppress he sudden urge to laugh but she managed to do so. The hours upon hours of tickle torture she’d endured for the past weeks helped her build up some resistance to it.
“Goochie ghoochie goo, birdy! Come on, you know you want to laugh! I know all of your worst spots,” teased the fox Digimon, already deep within that mania-like state that was now very familiar to Gatomon. She stopped squeezing the bird’s sides and instead jammed her fingers into her armpits.
“Mfh! Mhfhfhf!”
“Yes, that’s it! You’re starting to crack~”
She didn’t want to admit it, but Renamon was right. Despite her best efforts, her body was too ticklish for her own good.
“Pff-Hahahaha! Ow! Hahaha! Ah, stop!”
She never stood a chance.
Palmon unleashed the whip upon her sensitive skin, only making it even more sensitive with each consecutive lash. First her leg, then her buttock, then her back. Every burst of laughter was immediately and painfully punished.
“Yes, that’s it! Good girl! Good birdy! Sing for me! Sing and suffer the consequences,” exclaimed Renamon while she tickled under Biyomon’s breasts.
“Jeez, and I thought I was a sadist,” Gatomon remarked.
“She’s just so cute when she’s like this. Completely at our mercy. Utterly doomed.”
There was no stopping the crazy fox as she physically and verbally teased the daylights out of the poor girl who, by now, was shedding tears of pain and humiliation until, by some miracle, she managed to regain a modicum of composure and endure a few seconds of tickling and whipping in silence, much to the dismay of her torturers.
“Aww, why did you stop? I was having so much fun.”
“Need help?” Gatomon said, holding a small toothbrush.
“Oh yeah! That’s going to make her laugh for sure!”
Biyomon wanted to protest as Gatomon went behind her and grabbed her ankle before lifting her leg off the ground and holding it in a tight armlock, but she knew that if she did there would be painful consequences.
“This is your worst spot, isn’t it, birdy?” teased Gatomon as she began gingerly brushing Biyomon’s soft arch. “Yes, you have such ticklish talons! Don’t you just feel like bursting into laughter when I brush riiight here?” The bristles were between her thick toes now. Meanwhile, Renamon was back on her armpits.
The past few days of non-stop torture had taught Biyomon a lot about her own body, mostly thanks to Renamon’s incessant fixation with tickling the daylights out of her and her boyfriend whenever she got the chance. She knew that she could take a reasonable amount of tickling to her less sensitive areas – namely everywhere above her waist – but the moment someone touched her talons it was all over for her.
The cracks were starting to show. First the corners of her beak contorted into a quivering smile and then there was a sudden stop in her struggles as all of her energy was diverted into mustering the willpower not to laugh.
Don’t laugh! Don’t laugh!
Claws on her foot. She broke.
“Bwahahahaha! Ow! Plehehease! Aah! Ow! Ohohow!”
“There we go!”
“Laugh! Laugh!”
Palmon pranced around the tortured bird and let loose her whip. Nowhere was safe.
She whipped Biyomon’s already bruised back and buttocks before moving to tenderer spots like her her sides and abdomen, taking care not to accidentally hit her friends. The poor girl cried with pain and laughter, no longer bothering to plead for mercy for she knew there was none to be had. The girls were demented.
“Whip her boobs!”
No.
“And her foot too. I’ll hold it still.”
No!
“Hey let’s get the spreader bar so we can whip her cunt!”
No, no, no! Please no!
Ragged laughter and agonized screaming echoed from the basement loud enough for Veemon to hear for the rest of the day.
Gatomon sat down and let out a contented sigh. “Ah, this is the life.”
“I think these are the best ones we’ve had yet,” added Palmon, idly playing with her whip.
“Yup. They’re so weak and pathetic. It’s comical really.”
“The boy broke on the first day and the girl never stood a chance.”
Gatomon adjusted her position on the wooden bench. “See, what did I tell you about couples? When one of them submits the other isn’t too far behind.”
“Yeah, about that… I’ve been thinking.”
The cat raised a curious eyebrow. “What about?”
“What if we sell these two to the club? I bet they’d pay us a lot-”
“Shut the fuck up!” Gatomon hushed angrily. “Are you stupid? She’s right here!”
“S-Sorry. I figured she can’t hear anything since…” Palmon shyly gestured to the wooden bench Gatomon sat on. Biyomon was bound beneath the bench with only her beak poking through an orifice that allowed access to the seater’s private parts. The mention of being sold made her temporarily stop pleasuring Gatomon.
“She’s not wearing earmuffs, dumbass! And now she stopped licking my cunt!”
“Ah! Sorry, Gatomon! I’ll take care of that right away.” Palmon stood back and gave Biyomon a firm lash of her whip. “Keep licking, bitch! We didn’t tell you to stop!”
Biyomon complied and Gatomon let out another relieved sigh as the bird’s thin tongue snaked its way back into the folds of her vagina.
During this, Veemon simply carried on with his maidenly duties, cleaning and ensuring everything was in order until one of the girls decided to play with him. Then he would strip and submit himself fully to them just like he’d been doing for the last two and a half months.
During the last few days of their captivity, the girls tested the couple’s limits.
“P-please, mistress. It hurts!”
“My feet! Please, they burn! Ah!”
They were lying down on Veemon’s bed, tied side by side while their feet where in stocks near the end of the bed. Palmon held a pair of hairdryers pointed at their soles, mere inches away.
“Does it hurt?”
“Yes! Please, please stop!”
“Let me think about it… no.”
They continued writhing in pain while Gatomon prepared her arsenal of tools. She looked at the clock on her phone. 2 p.m. Renamon simply sat on a chair and watched.
“That’s enough, Palmon,” she ordered. Palmon turned off the hairdryers and set them aside.
“Thank you! Thank you!”
“T-Thank you, mistress.”
The girls shared a triumphant smile, happy to see the fruits of their months-long labour. Any and all thoughts of defiance had been completely eliminated from the couple. All they thought about was being obedient and submissive to their trio of mistresses.
“Sadly out time together is nearly over, so we’re going to make the most out of our remaining days.” Gatomon approached the bed, commanding the full attention of the couple. “We’re going all out. Your next week will be pure hell. Any objections?”
There was silence.
“Good. We’re starting now. Palmon?”
“On it!”
The plant digimon produced her whip and got to work lashing the couple’s abused soles.
“Ow! Shit!”
“Please! Ah!! No this again, I’ll do- Ah!! Anything!”
“You deserve this! Show some appreciation, bitches!” Gatomon ordered as her arm shot towards Veemon’s balls, holding them in a tight grip.
“Ouch! T-Thank you, mistress!”
“Hng! Thank you- Hng! M-Mistress!”
By now, Palmon knew exactly which parts of the couple’s feet were more susceptible to her whip. For Veemon it was the very centres of his soles, just below the arches. A lifetime of pampering and a chronic lack of manual labour had failed to build up the expected amount of callouses that a man his age should expect to have on the soles of his feet. But of course that, for the girls and their particular fixations, this was rather beneficial.
Biyomon’s large talons were most susceptible to pain on their thick toes – likely as a result of the frequent pedicures the girl spoiled herself with. This was why, in most of their foot-focused sessions, she had her toes tied back with loops of string.
Suddenly, Palmon swapped her whip for the hairdryers and turned them on, once again burning couple’s aching soles.
“Agh! Not again!”
“Nohohoooo.”
Veemon gritted his teeth while Biyomon broke into tears. The whipping had done wonders to sensitise their soles even more and make them extra susceptible to the hairdryers blowing on them.
“You want me turn them off?”
“Yes, please, we’ll do anything!”
“But then if we’re not burning them what should we do to your feet?”
“Nothing! Leave them alone!”
“Now, we can’t really have that, cane we?” said Gatomon. “What did I say a minute ago? We’re going all out,” she smirked, taking in the beautiful sight of the too broken captives who, even through the extreme pain, still hung on to her every word. “If you want one torture to stop, you’ll have to beg for another!”
“So,” continued Palmon, still pointing the hairdryers at their abused soles. “What will it be?”
Biyomon was non-verbal by that point so it was her boyfriend who answered that question.
“Gah! I don’t care! Whip them! Tickle them! Just stop burning me alive!!”
Renamon suddenly sat up. “Did I hear a request for tickles?”
“And I heard something about whipping,” Palmon said, finally turning off the hairdryers and rushing to grab her whip.
“W-wait! No, I changed my mind!”
It was too late.
For the rest of that day they screamed and laughed their heads off as all three girls took turns abusing their feet in increasingly creative and decreasingly pleasant ways.
They quickly moved on from the whip and started using a small wooden paddle for beatings while the classic feather-brush-pinwheel trifecta was used for tickling. After the paddle was a thin but painful cane which hurt especially bad when hitting their toes. Small metal rakes were then used to tickle the spots marked by the cane, tracing over the red marks it left.
This went on well into the night until the torture culminated in the unconsciousness of its victims.
“That was fun!”
“Six days to go.”
“I’m going to miss them…”
Gatomon pondered silently for a moment, staring at the unconscious couple. “Say, Palmon, what did you say the other day about selling them to the club?”
Veemon looked down at the shining metallic chastity cage covering his needy cock and the acrylic vise clamped around his balls – not tightly enough to hurt but snug enough to provide constant discomfort. The remote-controlled butt plug lodged within his rear lay dormant but he had a feeling that wouldn’t be the case for too long.
“Get the top shelf!” said Renamon who lounged in the recliner on the living room with Biyomon beside her – or rather Biyomon’s shape as it looked through the shiny latex suit she was wearing while hog-tied on the floor. He could see something vibrate near her crotch, but he couldn’t make out what it was, exactly.
As he stretched to try and reach the top of the shelf with his feather duster, he felt the toy in his rear begin to vibrate. The way he stretched made it so it pressed harder against his prostate than it would’ve pressed if he was in a more relaxed position. He looked back at Renamon and saw her smirk at him with her phone in hand. That vibrating dildo was app-controlled – that was his guess.
“C’mon, boy. Clean it!”
A sudden increase in the intensity of the vibrations nearly made him trip and fall but he managed to keep his balance. Ordinarily, he would’ve welcomed the pleasure among all the torture, but considering the assortment of gear imprisoning his genitals, pleasure was not something he sought at that moment.
As the vibrator pressed against his p-spot, it forced his caged dick to press painfully against its metal prison.
“Please, m-mistress! Stop! I’ll be good!”
“Damn right, you will. Now clean!”
The vibrations increased again, and this time they were strong enough to make Veemon double over in unwanted and overwhelming pleasure.
“Please! It hurts!” he begged, clutching the cage.
“Hands off!”
The vibrations increased one final time, becoming ridiculously intense. Veemon fought against a burning desire to pull the vibrator out of his rear, fully knowing that such an act would be met with punishment much worse that what he was currently experiencing.
“How do you like the new gear?” Renamon teased. “Took a while to get here but now that it is, you’re gonna be wearing it for the rest of the week.”
The rest of the week… That reminder that those dreadful three months of torture were nearly over gave Veemon a modicum of hope to cling on to. He truly couldn’t wait to put all of this behind him… Sure, he might’ve contracted a few kinks during this time (and the same went for his girlfriend) but that wasn’t really a bad thing, was it? If nothing else, this terrible experience would surely spice up their sex life once they managed to disassociate their newfound fetishes from the awful girls who awakened them.
“Oh, by the way. We bought them with your credit card. Hope you don’t mind.”
The final three days were filled with every torment imaginable.
On the first day they were bound in a series of increasingly awkward an uncomfortable poses as the girls pushed past the limits of their elasticity. The first few poses were easy enough – by now they had become rather used to these small feats of contortionism. But eventually the girls began using motorized restraint systems to pull on select body parts, much like the one they’d used on Veemon all those days ago.
When the day ended they were sore all over. There wasn’t a single muscle on Veemon and Biyomon’s bodies that wasn’t screaming in agony.
The second day was filled with pleasure. Too much pleasure, in fact.
They woke up tied to the bed like usual. What wasn’t usual was the milking machine attached to Veemon’s cock and the vibrator inserted deep into Biyomon’s vagina.
For the first few minutes, the girls actually allowed them to feel some much needed pleasure as they turned on the machines, coaxing the couple into a satisfying and simultaneous orgasm.
It was all downhill from there.
As they suspected, the machines didn’t stop. The very opposite in fact. Both the milking machine and the vibrator worked with increased intensity, rending consecutive orgasms from both of them, none of which was even slightly pleasing on account of the relentless overstimulation that they preceded.
As the hours passed, more gear was added to their bodies, compounding the already excessive stimuli. Dildos for their asses, gags and blindfolds for their heads, a breast pump for Biyomon, some nipple clamps for Veemon…
By the end of the first two hours they had both been milked dry. Any and all stimulation past that point was merely for the girls’ entertainment.
Miraculously, they managed not to pass out. When they were done, the girls merely removed all of the gear and existed the room, leaving them to spend the night bound, sweaty, and utterly broken.
The past three months convinced the couple that they had experienced the maximum amount of physical pain that their nervous systems could process. They had been through beating after beating, torture after torture, enduring torments that had once been mercifully unknown to them. There was no wordly pain that was new to them.
Or so they thought.
On the third and final day of those agonizingly long three months, they experienced a degree of pain that they didn’t thought was possible.
Bound side by side on the couch with their genitals on full display, the couple had a painfully clear view of the excess of instruments of torture neatly arranged on the coffee table. Sounding rods of all shapes and sizes, painful looking clamps, excessively large dildos, whips, canes, candles, needles, spiked cock rings and cages, vises and more.
On the very last day they truly broke. Agonizing screams echoed through the whole house for twelve consecutive hours. If Veemon had any neighbours they might’ve called the police.
That night, as they were bound back to Veemon’s bed to spend the night, they were limp and lifeless. It was as if their very selves had fled deep into their subconscious to take refuge from the torture.
That was it. That was the last day. Tomorrow the girls would be gone and they could start healing physically and emotionally.
They didn’t say a word to each other as they drifted to sleep.
He woke up but did not open his eyes.
There were a million possibilities all happening at that very moment.
The girls were truly gone. What had transpired was but a dark memory that he would shove deep into tiny, nondescript corner of his mind to be promptly forgotten about. The girls were still there, ready and waiting to crush his delusion of relief. Palmon with her dreaded whip, Renamon with her insatiable lust for tickling, and Gatomon fiercely intent on destroying his genitals. His parents were home. They would call the police and find the girls so they could rot away in a prison cell for the rest of their lives as penance for all that they had done to him and his girlfriend.
A million possibilities.
Veemon opened his eyes.
Bare walls, no windows, no parents. He began to cry.
He was in a spacious basement, cold iron chains tethered him to the wall. Biyomon was next to him, still out cold. They weren’t alone. Far from it.
There was a naked Agumon tied to a pole with a stern-looking Gabumon tweaking his nipples and teasing him about it. A screaming Hawkmon was being stretched on a rack by two sadistic Floramon. And a crying Gaomon was tied spread-eagle to a table while a tattooed Falcomon attached piercings to his body. Next to the table there was a treadmill where a straightjacketed Guilmon ran in place, desperately trying to avoid the whip that a Gomamon threatened him with, should he slow down or stop.
Veemon let out a shrill, lung-emptying cry at the sight, as if his soul was existing his body through his vocal chords. That cry woke up Biyomon who, upon witnessing the various demented scenes, also broke down into tears.
“What do you think? Do you like it?” That familiar voice made their stomachs turn. Renamon. She approached holding a newspaper. She showed them the front page which featured a familiar photo on the front page. It was Veemon’s house. Burned.
HOUSE BURNS DOWN – TWO PEOPLE PRESUMED DEAD
“So, long story short, you live here now. You’ll be getting new names and new lives as permanent err… employees.” Her innocent giggles sharply contrasted the pained screams that echoed through the walls of the dungeon. “I hope you liked the past three months because if you didn’t… well… you might have some trouble adjusting to your new lives.”