Reamed Enslaved Bred And Broken

All characters are 18 or older. This is set in the same universe as Age of Enslavement but you don't need to read that first. This story contains rape, enslavement, forced gang impregnation, cheating, devoicing, and a machine called the industrial ForniCorp heavy duty anal gaper.

Phoebe was in her university biology class. Her crush Greg was sitting two seat forward and three to the right. He was surrounded by his friends: all of them girls. Phoebe thought she knew some of their names. Jenn? And Aubrey she thought. They were all whispering together, admiring Aubrey's new fertility ear tag. Phoebe wished she had the courage to go sit with them.

Phoebe had an ear tag too. She'd gotten it weeks ago, hoping it would make Greg notice her. He really seemed to like submissive girls, and the ear tag was an extremely submissive thing. It meant she'd permanently surrendered her right to birth control. By law nobody could even sell it to her now.

But Greg hadn't noticed, and his friend group all seemed so tight. Phoebe was so awkward. She knew if she just walked up and tried to plop herself down in the middle of them they would all look at her like he had a second nose. She'd never been good at social stuff. She turned her attention back to the front.

"And who can tell me whether the Demeter genes are recessive or dominant?" Professor Andel asked.

Phoebe reflexively raised her hand. This is what she was good at. She loved knowing the answers. But the professor called on someone else. Annoying.

"Dominant?" answered Jenn.

"That's right, and why is that important?"

Jenn seemed unsure. Pete, one of the degenerates in the back, yelled out, "For bitches!"

The class snickered. Phoebe reached her hand even higher.

The Professor, looking tired, ignored Pete's comment and waited to see if anyone else would volunteer. They didn't. "Go ahead Phoebe."

"Dominant genes get expressed more often," Phoebe explained, "Which means even though only a third of people have volunteered for Project Demeter, half of couples will produce only female offspring. The remaining population also produces some girls, which is why women will soon outnumber men 3 to 1."

"That's what I said," yelled Pete, "For bitches!"

The class laughed again. Phoebe didn't see what was so funny. Her answer was obviously better. Pete was an asshole.

"Thank you Phoebe," said Professor Andel, "The rest of you should follow her example. That's all the time we have today. Quiz next time! Chapters 4 and 5."

While everyone else was gathering their things, Phoebe ran to the door ahead of Greg. This was one of her favorite parts of the day, when he walked her to Enslavement 101 class, because she could have him all to herself.

"Hey you," he said, smiling at her.

God his curly hair and little dimples were hot. She tried her best to say something smart. "You too." Fuck!

Luckily he didn't seem to notice, and kept smiling as they began their walk. "Hey, is that new," he asked, pointing to her fertility ear tag.

"Yes," she said smiling. She hoped she was smiling sweetly, but worried she was grinning like an idiot.

"It's hot," he said.

"Yeah?" This was it. She'd practiced the words in front of the mirror. She was ready. "You know you haven't asked me on a date yet."

"I guess I haven't. What a dummy I must be."

Score! Even Phoebe knew that was a good sign. Now she really was grinning like an idiot. She didn't care.

As they approached the Enslavement building, Phoebe spotted her friend Amber. Amber was pulling off her shoes beside her boyfriend Bruce's car.

"Hey Amber," Phoebe waved, "How's it going?"

"Oh hey Phoebe," said Amber. Her voice wobbled, as if she had been crying.

"Are you okay?" Phoebe veered off a little to talk to Amber. To her delight, Greg followed.

"Yeah. I am," said Amber, "Just, a little overwhelmed. You know how it is. Just graduated from Enslavement class."

Phoebe laughed at the joke. "Graduated? Graduation isn't for another...oh...oh no!" Sometimes Phoebe missed social cues, but she saw them now. Amber's makeup was a mess. Her clothes were torn. Her vulva was out and flush. She had cum running down her legs. "You mean you GRADUATED graduated?"

Amber lifted her tattered shirt, revealing the angry red lowercase letter 's' branded above her pussy. "Yep. Signed and seared. I'm a bonafide sex slave."

Phoebe took her friend's hand. "Are you okay?"

There were tears on Amber's face, but her smile seemed genuine. "Oh I'm great. Bruce was the best. He did a great job breaking me." She gave her boyfriend's hand a fond squeeze. "It was perfect. He was fucking me in front of everyone right? And I was all bound, but I wasn't breaking. And I was like, 'oh no, maybe I'm not a natural slave after all.' But then he calls out to...to Trish Lawrence." Her voice broke a little. "And Trish comes up, while Bruce is hammering me right, and tells me in front of everyone that she's been fucking Bruce for months behind my back. She's pregnant with his baby. She says she fucked him right before class, and I should eat his cum out of her cunt. And I'm like, there's no way bitch. I would have known. But I gotta find out for sure. So I taste it. I stick my tongue up this cunt's cunt. And it's totally my boyfriend's cum. He's got weird tasting cum. I'd know it anywhere. So there I am, sucking my cheating man's cum straight out of his hussy side piece. And that almost did it. I almost broke just from that. But then, cherry on top, he leans over, still in me, and kisses the bitch. And the whole auditorium hears him promise to buy her the biggest diamond engagement ring he can from the money he gets selling me. That fucking did it. They say you know when you get slave broken, and I fucking knew. And it's great Phoebe. It's just as good as they say. Better, even."

As Amber talked, she continued taking off her clothes, until she was fully naked there on the sidewalk in broad daylight. She dropped each piece into a nearby trash can. Then she kissed Bruce, "Thank you for such a good breaking Master."

"It wasn't easy, keeping the affair secret," he said, smiling back, "I'm going to miss you."

"You too Master. I hope you got me pregnant today. Then I'll have something to remember you by." She turned and gave a hug to Phoebe. "Bye Phoebe. Thanks for...everything." With that, Amber climbed naked into the trunk of Bruce's car.

He closed it with a click. "Good seeing you Phoebe. Have a good enslavement class." Then he climbed into the driver's side and drove away.

Phoebe was a little in shock. Amber had been her friend since the start of the semester. And now just like that, poof. Gone. But then Greg put his hand on her shoulder. "We should probably get to class."

That got her going again. Professor Dagon was extremely particular about punctuality. Phoebe did not want to be punished for being late. The two of them ran the rest of the way to class.

Phoebe loved and hated arriving at Enslavement 101 class. Everyone was required to be naked for class, so she had to strip in front of everyone. That was the part she hated. But also, Greg had to strip in front of her. That kind of made up for it. That flat tummy. Those meaty legs. Dat ass.

"Oh wow. You're looking so...so great today," he said, eyeing her body.

Phoebe melted at the compliment. She tried not to behave like a duffus, but immediately failed. She felt herself blushing, clutched her body and turned away from him. "It's just the same as always."

Bruce reached out and gently brushed a lock of her hair out of her face behind her ear. "No, there's something special about you today. You have a kind of glow. Are you ovulating?"

The dorkiest half snort, half guffaw Phoebe had ever heard erupted from her nose. Fuck! She was blowing this so badly. But somehow Bruce hadn't reacted. She tried to recover. "I think I could be?"

"Yeah she is," yelled Pete from behind, pinching her on the ass, "She's ready to go."

Phoebe yelped from the unexpected pain. Bruce seemed shocked, and then angry. Before he managed to say or do anything, though, Professor Dagon's voice sounded over the auditorium speakers. "Peter Grenshaw. Thank you so much for volunteering for todays' demonstrations. Please come to the front of the class immediately."

Pete's face went white. He had NOT meant to volunteer for an enslavement class demonstration. But there was no going defying the professor. They all knew her punishments would only get more creative the longer he made her wait. He hurried to the front of the class and joined her on stage.

Phoebe and Bruce quickly found seats -- right next to each other to Phoebe's delight. As usual Professor Dagon stood naked on stage like a greek goddess. Her waxed and toned body shone in the stage light like a porn star. Yet she carried herself with such unmistakable authority, it was as if she was the only one in the room wearing clothes.

Soon Pete was fastened securely to a breeding bench on stage, his bare ass held high behind him. Two empty breeding benches stood on either side of him, apparently awaiting further volunteers. Professor Dagon brought the class to order, and began teaching the students about anal gaping machines. To illustrate the lesson, her aids wheeled out an industrial ForniCorp heavy duty anal gaper, and parked it behind Peter's breeding benches. The class nervously eyed the two empty benches.

"Who can tell me what anal gapers are for," the professor asked.

Phoebe's hand shot up. Though there were hundreds of students in the room, almost nobody else moved. Their loss.

"Yes Ms. Ritterson," the professor said, calling on Phoebe.

"Anal gapers are a type of reamer, meant for slowly but permanently stretching the lower colon," Phoebe yelled, so everyone could hear her. She always liked being the one to answer these kinds of questions, but somehow it felt all the better to be the one speaking while degenerate Pete was bound in front of one of those machines. "They train people and slaves to wear oversized butt plugs and other anal ornaments."

"Very good Ms. Ritterson," the professor said, "Anal ornaments are increasingly fashionable. A properly anal gaped slave can also be mounted on a wall or hook for display. Any of you who are considering enslaving yourselves in the next few months should strongly consider anal gaping. It will raise your selling price considerably, and strongly improve your chances of slave breaking. But make sure you are certain. Getting gaped permanently destroys your ability to have normal bowel movements, requiring a special liquid diet for the rest of your life."

Pete looked like he was going to be sick. Phoebe was loving this.

The professor continued. "In a moment, Peter here will demonstrate what it takes to safely use an anal gaper. I had hoped for a few more volunteers," she gestured to the empty breeding benches, "but it appears everyone came to class on time today. Well done. It takes months to fully stretch an anus. Even with this ForniCorp gaper, at least a few weeks of continuous stretching is necessary. So Peter will not be permanently modified today."

Across the auditorium students let out a sigh. For some it was a sigh of disappointment, for others a sigh of relief.

"Yes, settle down. His sphincter should close again just fine after a few hours. He will, however, be able to demonstrate the basics, and how important it is to relax while getting gaped. Remember your breathing exercises Peter."

Phoebe was curious and excited to see Pete get gaped. In fact, now she wished she'd gotten a seat closer to the front. She could hardly see from here.

"As always, the best way to relax is with orgasm. Is anybody interested in volunteering to help Peter here relax while he demonstrates the machine."

Perfect. Phoebe raised her hand again. She wanted to see Pete's punishment up close and personal. Again, nobody else in the whole room moved. Weird.

"Thank you again Ms. Ritterson. Come on up."

Phoebe was a little nervous walking on stage completely naked in front of everybody. But it wasn't so bad since everybody else was naked too. The lights of the stage were harsh and distracting, but she liked that they made it hard to see the audience.

The professor looked her up and down as she climbed onto the stage, as if assessing something. "Welcome Ms. Ritterson. Are you by any chance ovulating today?"

"Um, I haven't been tracking, so I don't know."

The professor nodded, then addressed the class again. "Anal gaping ornaments can also be great for those of you with vaginas interested in breeding parties, gang rapes, and breeding raffles. The ornament presses on your vaginal walls, making you tighter, and increasing your rapist's pleasure. Plus nothing says, 'fuck me in the pussy, not the ass' like having a bowling ball in your butt."

That got a little chuckle. Phoebe took her place next to Peter. He frantically muttered apologies under his breath while the professor got Phoebe situated with a little stool and some lube.

"Try to cum as much as you can Peter," the professor said, "It will stop hurting and start to feel good once you relax enough. Also, remember your slave mantras. If you can thank Phoebe for raping you, and mean it, you might even get to slave break today."

Peter nodded, and the professor started the machine. Phoebe relished the sounds Peter made as the machine washed and rinsed him from the inside. It wasn't until she was about to take his cock in her hand that she realized his was the first penis she would ever touch. "I guess you're taking my hand-virginity Pete," she said. He didn't seem to hear, though, so she just got to work, slowly pumping up and down, just like the machine.

"There are two main kinds of anal gapers," the professor lectured, "Can anyone tell me what they are?"

Phoebe automatically raised her hand again. The professor held the mic so she wouldn't have to yell. "Industrial gapers are faster overall, but they require you to stay tied down in one spot. Personal gapers are smaller and strapped to your body, so you can move around and do other stuff while you get gaped."

"Very good Ms. Ritterson," said the professor, "I have here two personal gapers. I'll use one myself if anyone is willing to join me? Do I have any volunteers?"

Phoebe didn't hear the question, though, because Peter had started whispering to her, "If I'm getting turned inside out, I'm glad it's by someone as pretty as you Phoebe. Thanks for raping me."

Nobody in the class volunteered. The professor turned back to Phoebe, looking hopeful, "Ms. Ritterson? What about you?"

"Yes Professor," she said, trying to hide that she hadn't been paying attention. Another murmur filled the auditorium.

"Wonderful," said the professor, "I'll get mine on first, and then I'll help you into yours."

Wait. What just happened? Phoebe watched with growing dread as the professor's aids produced two personal anal gapers. She lubed up the first one, inserted into her own ass, strapped it in place, and turned it on. As it rearranged her insides, the professor did not moan or make a single silly face. She did, however, remain silent and still for about a minute, apparently not yet ready to speak. Keen observers in the audience noticed her pussy getting visibly wetter.

Phoebe felt Pete's cock start to throb. "Oh gaw-ah-ah-ah-aaawwd," moaned Pete in rhythm with the machine, cumming on the floor as he watched the professor take her reaming. Phoebe yanked her hand away. Cum and lube covered her hand.

"That was very intense," said the professor at last, standing up calmly as if she wasn't wearing a machine designed to ruin her butthole forever. "Alright Phoebe, you're next. I think it's best if we tie you down for this part.

Phoebe's heart was pounding. She didn't want that. She didn't want it at all. But what could she do? She'd said she would. Everyone was watching. She couldn't disobey the professor. And Greg was up there somewhere. Watching. He liked submissive girls. Phoebe climbed up onto the breeding bench.

The shackles clicked closed around her ankles and wrists. The professor adjusted the bench so her ass and pussy were high up, completely vulnerable.

The professor turned off the microphone. "I noticed you with Gregory earlier. Would you like some devoicer so you don't make any embarrassing noises?"

Devoicer? That stuff was permanent. It could be reversed with treatment, but it didn't wear off. Was it worth giving up her voice, maybe forever, so she didn't make any more dumb noises. No way. But then she remembered the guffaw snort she'd made earlier. That moment was already becoming a core memory. She could feel it. Phoebe could imagine herself 50 years from now, a successful scientist accepting her nobel prize award. She'd stand at the podium, and think back on all her accomplishments. Then for the 10,000th time her brain would force her to relive that stupid noise she'd made in front of Greg. She couldn't let that happen again. She didn't have a choice.

"Yes," she said, and opened her mouth wide. The professor sprayed the fluid deep into her throat. She tried to speak, then to scream. Only whispers came out.

Gently, the professor lubed up Phoebe's ass. Phoebe had never felt anything like it. It took her a few tries, but with coaching she managed to relax, and let the professor's fingers in. Her fellow students encouraged her with little cheers and whoops. Then she felt the nozzle of the gaper go in. The fasteners were tightened into place. The professor turned it on. It wasn't painful exactly. But it was like pain, and extremely invasive. Phoebe was suddenly happy for the devoicer. She cursed, and screamed, and moaned, and begged for her mother, and giggled, and cried, all silently, as the thing plumbed her depths. She understood now why Pete had mentioned getting turned inside out. She thrashed in her bonds. It was a good thing she was tied down, or she might have gone running out the building and down the street.

It was too much stimulus. The lights, the noises, the reaming: it was overwhelming.

Then she felt the professor's gentle lubricated fingers on her clit. "Relax. Listen to my voice. Try to relax". Phoebe had never been touched like that before, by anyone. She focused on the voice and on the fingers. The professor moved with extremely rapid but gentle touches.

Phoebe didn't know it could feel so good. It certainly never had when she'd touched herself. "Thank you for raping me," Phoebe mouthed. She really meant it. Something deep inside of her began to crack.

"Phoebe is getting ready to slave break," the professor announced to the class, "Is anyone willing to help her along?" Now there were volunteers. Across the auditorium dozens of hands went up in the air.

"Very good. Phoebe is ovulating today, so we're going to try a breeding raffle. As most of you should know by now, a classic breeding raffle is where men purchase tickets to rape a woman. Then she signs herself over as a slave to whichever one of them gets her pregnant first. We don't have time to sell tickets today, so everyone who wishes should please form a line. You'll each have one minute in her, then you'll have to go to the back of the line if you want to go again. Those of you without sperm are welcome to rape her as well, but you will not be able to impregnate or own her. Sorry. Those of you with sperm, she is young and extremely fertile, so only do this if you're willing to become a father and a slave owner today."

Phoebe heard only parts of what the professor was saying. A breeding raffle? But she didn't want to get pregnant. Did she? It was hard to think with the gaper in her ass and the professor's fingers still on her clit.

Aids brought out the enslavement papers. "You know what these are," the professor asked. Phoebe nodded. "You're going to sign away your freedom temporarily to Gregory," said the professor, "You'll be his slave until your baby is born, and we can do DNA tests to find out who your permanent master is. Does that sound good?"