Story: The Teardown Room

The Teardown Room is one of 16 stories in my e-book Taken – Stories of Abduction and Captivity, available for only $3.99 USD at my creator site. Purchases support the creation of new, free content. (Click here to view.)

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On Monday, Donovan ambushed Stephanie on her way home from work, grabbing the cockteasing bitch from behind and holding a chloroformed rag hard against her mouth until her struggles ceased and she went limp in his arms. 

On Tuesday, Stephanie woke up, naked, in the Teardown Room.

It was a simple cement room. There were no windows. There were no openings of any kind except for a drain in the floor, a ventilation grille high on the wall, and the door, which was solid metal with a locked slot in it.

The only traditional furniture in the room was a toilet, which was in one corner and, oddly, faced the wall, which had a TV screen on it. In fact, there were several screens all around the room, each quite large, and all set firmly into the wall.

A poster dominated one wall. It was a picture of Stephanie, taken while she was unconscious. In the picture, she was nude, lying on her back with her legs spread. The poster was captioned “ANATOMY OF A SEX-COW”, and arrows labelled her body parts – her mouth labelled as “toilet”, her breasts as “udders”, and her pussy as “rapehole”. She was horrified to see that in the photo there was cum splattered on her face and breasts – someone had ejaculated on her as she slept!

There was a tough fabric collar around her neck, with a metal part at the front. She felt at it, but couldn’t seem to find a catch to remove it, nor would the fabric easily break – it appeared to be the same stuff they made safety harnesses from.

“Hello?” she called out – and immediately squealed. The collar had shocked her!

It was a de-barking collar, she realised with horror. Like they put on dogs, to teach them not to bark. Any time she made a noise, it shocked her.

In time she would discover it was cleverer than that. It didn’t work on noise. It worked on the sound of her voice – and on human speech. If it detected Stephanie’s voice, forming coherent words, it would shock her. But squeals – such as they one she had made when she was shocked – and other incoherent animal noises would be fine. It wasn’t training her to be silent – it was training her to forget how to speak without permission.

Suddenly, the TV screens around the room blared to life. They each showed vivid pornographic footage – women being fucked, women being raped, women masturbating, women on display. And sound came from them – quiet sounds, pleasant sounds. A calming orchestral melody.

The screens were pictured, Stephanie discovered, so that wherever she turned her eyes in the room, she was looking at porn. There was even a screen in the floor, and two in the roof.

She investigated the room further. On one wall of the room was a large plastic cock, semi-erect. A sign above it read “LIFE, NUTRITION, HAPPINESS”. There was also an LED light next to the cock. It was not currently lit. 

The door had its own sign on it. It read:

“If you want anything that isn’t in this room, kneel next to the door, face the camera, and masturbate. You will hear a voice giving you permission to speak. You may then confess an embarrassing sexual fantasy or experience. The more you want, the sluttier your story needs to be. You will not be given anything that only humans would use, as you are not a human.”

Next to the door, a lens was set in the wall, at about eye-height to Stephanie if she was kneeling.

There was nothing else in the room.

Stephanie made three further circuits of the room, and tried calling out twice more before the painful shocks made her stop.

From his control room, Donovan watched everything through the multiple cameras hidden in the room.

This was his Teardown Room. It was designed to turn a bitch into a sex object. He was testing it on Stephanie – a co-worker at his IT firm, and one who had never been anything but a hateful cow to him. He was confident it would work.

It took her a while to decide she needed to use the toilet, and that was when she discovered her first surprise. There was a small camera in the toilet, pointing directly at her cunt and anus. As she sat on the toilet, it transmitted its footage to the screen in front of her face. Stephanie realised she was going to be forced to watch herself pissing in close-up, and immediately stood up again, deciding to hold it in.

But her biological forces were relentless, and soon she was back on the toilet, blushing. She tried to close her eyes, and received a zap from the collar. A camera mounted above the screen was tracking her face, and transmitted a shock instruction to the collar if it saw her eyes closed, or her head turned away. She had to look at the screen. (They would also zap her if she covered or obstructed the camera in the toilet.)

And so she watched herself piss, in humiliating zoomed in detail. She could see the pink folds of her labia, the little nubbin of her clitoris, the open pink hole of her vagina, and watch the piss spurt from her urethra as she relaxed her bladder. In fact, she had no choice but to watch.

And as she watched, words appeared, superimposed over her pussy. “Disgusting filthy slut,” they read. “Piss-whore. Dirty rapehole.”

By the time Stephanie was done pissing, she was crying – but her ordeal was only just beginning. Because now the footage that the camera had captured was displaying on every screen, on loop, and everywhere she looked she could see her pink, disgusting cunt, pissing.

A recorded voice played suddenly in the room. It sounded like it was talking to a dog, and it began with a sharp whistle, as if to a pet. “Here girl,” it said. “Dinner time.”

There was a buzz from the wall with the plastic cock. The cock stiffened slightly, and the green light next to it came on.

Stephanie only looked at it in disgust. After a while, the light went off, and the cock softened.

Eventually, Stephanie tried to sleep. But when she did, the videos on the walls changed. Now they showed women wearing clothes, women walking upright, doing normal jobs – and the sound changed, to be nothing but a cacophony of loud, horrifying noises. Stephanie heard screams, and metal clanging, and something that sounded like a blender. When she realised it wasn’t going to stop – that it was going to go all night, she started to scream herself, begging it to stop – and then resorting to incoherent noises when the collar shocked her after each identifiable word.

Occasionally the naked, fucking women would reappear on the screens, or the video of Stephanie’s own cunt, and when it did the awful noises would be replaced by the calm music. Each time, Stephanie would babble gratefully, begging the porn whores to stay, but after less than ten minutes they would be gone, and the women wearing clothes and the abusive noise would return.

By morning, Stephanie was a mess. She hadn’t slept. She had cried all night. She only knew it was morning because the fucking women came back, and they stayed.

Stephanie crawled over to the lens by the door, and knelt in front of it. After a moment, she tentatively spread her legs and began to hesitantly stroke her pussy.

A recorded voice spoke – a male. “You have permission to speak.”

“Please let me go?” said Stephanie nervously – and when the collar didn’t shock her, she felt emboldened to continue. “Please. Please. I’m so sorry for whatever I’ve done. I didn’t mean it. This is all a mistake. I’ll be good. Please let me go. Please.”

The room let her babble for exactly ten minutes – and the collar started shocking her. It delivered ten shocks, one after another, until she was screaming, fearing it would keep shocking her until she died, and then it stopped.

No one needed to say anything. No one needed to tell her. Stephanie understood. The camera was only for slutty confessions.

She used the toilet again, emptying her bowels, and this video joined the rotation on the room’s screens. 

The voice played again – a whistle, then, “Here girl. Dinner time.” The cock buzzed, and stiffened, and the light came on.

Stephanie became aware she was hungry – and worse, thirsty. Incredibly thirsty. She looked at the cock, and its sign – “LIFE. NUTRITION. HAPPINESS.” She knew what she was expected to do.

She hated it, of course. But by now she understood that this room would show her no sympathy, no mercy, and she would stay here until she got with its program. So she crawled over to the cock on all fours, and put her mouth around it.

Immediately she tasted something, seeping from the tip. It tasted foul – salty, and pungent – but it was liquid, and her disgust wrestled with a real need to swallow it. Her thirst won, and she swallowed convulsively, and sucked on the cock to get more.

A slow trickle followed. She had to really work the cock to get the liquid to come out – pumping her mouth up and down on it, as if it were skullfucking her, seemed to work best. With each pump, another small squirt of the foul salty liquid squirted down her throat – and then, suddenly, there was a whole flood of it. The cock twitched, and bucked, and her mouth was filled with the gross salty mess. She swallowed, and swallowed again.

Finally, it was done. The cock softened, and the light went out. The recorded voice said, “Good bitch.” Stephanie licked at the cock, making sure she got the last of her meal.

The screens changed. They showed a simple message:

“YOUR DINNER TODAY WAS:<ul><li>PIG CUM</li><li>EUPHORIA DRUG</li><li>APHRODISIAC</li><li>UDDER SENSITISER”</li></ul>

Stephanie almost vomited. Pig cum? Pig cum and drugs? She had just swallowed pig cum and drugs?

But she blanked her mind, and stared at the fucking women who returned to the screens, and she managed to keep her meal down.

She felt the effect of the drugs soon after. She felt good – happy. She felt her cunt growing wet. She felt her breasts growing sensitive – painfully sensitive. They felt swollen, engorged.

She began to rub her pussy – and then rub it harder – and then for the next three hours she was lost in a haze of slutty masturbation.

When she regained her senses, there was video of what she had just done playing on the walls. That was her, among the porn whores, rubbing her cunt like a slut with the taste of pig cum still on her tongue.

Stephanie shivered. Was the temperature dropping ? It was. It was getting cold in the room.

She crawled to the lens by the door, and rubbed her pussy some more. “You have permission to speak,” said the voice.

“Please, may I have a blanket?” she asked. “I… uh…” She tried to think of a sexual fantasy. She had fantasised about many boys, of course, but it said her confession had to be slutty. How slutty did it need to be for a blanket? Was that a big ask, or a small one?

“I sucked a boy’s cock at my school prom,” she admitted. There was no response – just silence. She began to be afraid. It had taken ten minutes for the collar to respond last time – and then it had shocked her until she thought she might die. Was that going to happen this time if her story wasn’t slutty enough?”

Did her stories have to be true? “I once fucked my best female friend to make my boyfriend jealous,” she said. Did it have to be detailed? “I, uh, stuck my tongue right up her cunt… up her rapehole, and she orgasmed against my face.”

No response. “I once got aroused hugging my own father,” she said, desperately. That one was true.

No response.

She panicked. She lied. “I fantasise about fucking dogs,” she begged. She was still masturbating. “I fantasise about being raped by dogs. I want to buy a dog and train him to rape me.”

There was a click. The hatch in the door opened, and someone roughly shoved a blanket through it, before locking it again.

“Thank you!” called Stephanie, and then added, almost without thinking about it, “Sir!”

“Permission to speak is now revoked,” said the recorded voice, and Stephanie said no more.

The blanket was enough to keep her warm through the chill. And she had something new to watch – the footage of her recent confession was now playing on a loop. 

“I fantasise about being raped by dogs,” she heard herself say. “I want to buy a dog and train it to rape me.” And then she heard herself repeat it, again and again.

And then the footage began to remix, edited into new configurations. “I fantasise about fucking… my father,” she heard her voice confess. “I want… him to rape me. I sucked a… dog’s… cock at my school prom. I… rape… my best female friend to make my… dog… jealous.”

And the audio was superimposed over the footage of Stephanie pissing and shitting. Sometimes the images were mixed together – Stephanie kneeling and masturbating, but with her pissing cunt where her mouth should be.

There was no escape from it. It was everywhere. Stephanie cried. She hated herself. She was disgusting.

The cock buzzed again, some hours later, and Stephanie obediently crawled over to suck it. The fluid this time was less thick, and more acrid. She sucked it out of the cock anyway, swallowing obediently when it ejaculated into her mouth.

Afterwards, the video told her she had swallowed human piss mixed with dog semen, with doses of aphrodisiacs and lactation drugs inside. Her tits swelled further, and she was soon masturbating furiously.

The awful clothed women came back at night, and with them the noises. Stephanie wept all night long. She found herself making wordless screams at them, willing them to take off their clothes and fuck a man like a good girl, so that Stephanie could sleep.

She tried to sleep during the “day”, of course, but the mere act of trying to sleep made the bad videos come back, and the noises resume.

In the end she found herself at the lens by the door, masturbating, eyes unfocused, tongue slurring.

“You have permission to speak,” said the voice.

“Please may I have sleeping pills, sir,” said Stephanie. “Sedatives. Anything so I can sleep. Please, sir. When my sister Ellie turned 18, she got raped by her boyfriend, and I fantasised about that for a year, fantasised about my sister being raped, fantasised about her crying while he fucked her, and then one night I was just fantasising about raping her myself.”

Stephanie didn’t even know if this was the truth or not. She thought she had half-dreamt it in her half-awake daze during the long, hellish night.

“I want to get pregnant from rape,” she heard herself say. “I want to get pregnant to my rapist. I want to be the office sex-toy. I want everyone to see my tits.”

There was a click, and a small pill was pushed through the slot in the door. Stephanie took it gratefully, and swallowed it with water from the toilet. Shortly afterwards, she passed out, into blessed sleep.

When she woke up, her own voice was remixed on the videos again. “I want to get pregnant… by my father. I want to get pregnant to… a dog. I fantasise about my sister being… the office-sex toy. I fantasise… about raping her myself. I want everyone to see… my sister being raped… by a dog.”

Her tits hurt. They seemed so big. She poked one, and was surprised to see milk trickle from her nipple.

The cock buzzed, and she crawled to attend it. This time she was informed that she had swallowed pig cum and human breast milk, along with the usual drugs. 

As she masturbated, she had an idea, and she backed up against the wall, pushing the now only semi-erect cock into her pussy. It fit nicely, and to her delight it began to stiffen inside her. She began to buck against it happily – and, to her further delight, after some minutes of this she felt it spurt new liquid inside her. She squealed happily, crawled off the cock, and began to dig the thick, sticky mess out of her pussy and transfer it to her mouth. Second breakfast, she thought. She was beginning to quite enjoy eating animal cum – no doubt a product of the happiness that followed whenever she did, thanks to the euphoria drugs.

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Donovan kept Stephanie in the room for a week, allowing her only to sleep while drugged, learning that sleep was a gift from men, not something she was allowed to do herself. By the end of the week she was spending most of her time fucking or sucking the plastic cock. She had asked for several additional favours, including a dog bowl to help her transfer cum from her pussy to her mouth without wasting any, and each one had increased the repertoire of slutty confessions available to remix.

“My sister Ellie… is a whore,” said the screens. “I like it when girls… are raped. I like it when girls… cry. I like it when… my tits hurt. I am stupid, because… I have big tits. I am stupid, because… I’m a girl.”

And Stephanie watched and masturbated and loved the sound of her voice telling her what a whore she was, because the alternative was the hellish noises of the clothed women who weren’t fucking.

At the end of the week, Donovan passed a simple test through the slot in the door, and a crayon to complete it, and watched Stephanie’s performance.

The first question merely asked her to draw a picture of herself, and Donovan watched with delight as on her first attempt she drew a picture of her own cunt, pissing. She seemed to realise something was wrong, and tried again, drawing a big-titted stick figure with a cunt for a mouth. She seemed satisfied with that.

The second question just asked, “Do women deserve to be raped?” Stephanie answered “YES” and drew a love heart.

The third question showed pictures of a man, a dog, a pig, and a naked woman, and said, “Circle all humans. Number them in order of how important they are.” Stephanie circled the man, but not the woman, and numbered them one for the man, two for the pig, three for the dog – and then wrote a four next to the woman’s cunt, a five next to her tits, and a six next to her mouth.

Donovan knew then that Stephanie was ready.

Early the next morning, as Stephanie was crying from lack of sleep and masturbating because she did that all the time now, the door opened, and a girl stepped in. It was Stephanie’s sister Ellie. She was dressed in a business suit.

“Oh my God!” screamed Ellie. “Stephanie! What have they done to you?”

Stephanie just looked up at her sister blankly – and then the noises started. The awful noises. But the screens just showed women fucking, which should have been the good noise.

Ellie. The problem was Ellie.

Screaming in anger, she attacked her sister, wrestling her to the ground, and ripping off Ellie’s clothes.

“No!” screamed Ellie. “What are you doing? They abducted me! They abducted you too! We can get out of here! I’m your sister! Please, Stephanie, stop!”

But Stephanie kept going until her sister was nude – and even then, the noises didn’t stop, so Stephanie straddled her naked sister the way she had seen the whores do in the movies, pressing her cunt against her sister’s face, and bringing her own mouth – her “toilet” – down to lick her sister’s rapehole.

Ellie was crying, but she deserved to cry, for wearing clothes like that. And now that her mouth was muffled by Stephanie’s cunt, Ellie wasn’t trying to *speak* anymore, which Stephanie knew was something that good girls didn’t do. And as Stephanie began to rape her sister, the calming music returned, and she knew she herself was being a good girl.

She would have to rape Ellie regularly, she knew, until her sister got with the program and stopped trying to be a bad girl. And she would have to compete with Ellie for the cum from the cock – Ellie would have to learn her place, and understand that she got seconds, after her sister was satisfied. 

But it felt good to rape Ellie, and anyway, Stephanie thought she might still have a bit of pig cum up her pussy for Ellie to enjoy the taste of, so Ellie should be grateful.

“I love… raping… my sister,” came Stephanie’s voice over the speakers. “Ellie… is a whore. Ellie… deserves to be raped. I want to see Ellie… raped by a dog.”

Ellie squealed and bucked, but Stephanie held her firm, and kept licking her sister’s rapehole. “I want to see you raped by a dog,” she murmured into her sister’s twat. And it felt good to say it, because it was true.

She wondered how slutty her confession would need to be tomorrow in order to make that fantasy come true.

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