Jenny’s life revolved around the button.

It was metal, about the size of a coin, and set into the wall of her living room. And she spent most of each day standing nude in front of it, pressing it into the wall with her nose, as passers-by stared at her through her front window.

It hadn’t always been this way. But Jenny was pretty, and buxom, and one day a local police officer had noticed her. 

He’d been sweet at first, knocking on her door, introducing himself as Officer Smith, asking if she’d had any crime in her area, if she lived alone, if she was in contact with her family.

But when he learned she was new to the city, with little in the way of support, his smile had changed, and he had told her to strip naked. 

She hadn’t thought he was serious, but then he’d taken out his gun, and she realised that he was *very* serious, and she had stripped naked just as he had told her to.

“I’m going to be fair, Jenny,” he had said. “I’m about to feel your cunt. And if you’re not wet, then clearly it would be wrong to molest you, and I’ll leave, and let you go about your business.”

But she had been wet. Soppingly, traitorously wet. His fingers had come away slimy. She was very, very, genuinely scared, yes – but she’d always had a police fantasy, and Officer Smith was good looking, and…

And so he had slid the muzzle of his gun into her pussy and gently fucked her with it, as she shivered in terror and then orgasmed from her fear. And then he had replaced the gun with his cock, and fucked her until he reached his own release, ejaculating into her womb.

And then he had explained how she was going to be his little toy now, and that if she didn’t, then maybe the police would raid her house and find a convenient stash of drugs, enough to imprison her for life. Or maybe something worse would happen – a home invasion, an accidental shooting.

She had felt sick, horrified, violated – but she had still been wet when he fucked her again, and she had cum a second time before he was done.

Since then, her life had changed. Officer Smith had taken away all her clothes. He had welded a collar around her neck – one that rested tightly, but not too tightly, against her her skin. A collar with wicked little nodes near the front that could deliver an agonising electric shock on his command.

He had bound her hands behind her back with cuffs. They stayed in those cuffs almost constantly now. She had little use for her hands.

And he had installed the button.

It was high enough on the wall that, with her hands bound, the only way to press it was with her nose. She had to stand pressed tightly against the wall, her tits against the paint, to keep it depressed. 

And she had to keep it depressed, because if the button wasn’t pressed, her collar would begin to shock her.

Just above the button was a strip of writing. It read, “YOU ARE NOTHING BUT A CUNT”. She had to spend all day looking at it, because pressing the button made a video camera just above it activate, and if the camera couldn’t see her eyes, it zapped her. It meant she had to stare at the fact that she was a cunt. It meant she couldn’t have just taped the button down with sticky tape, even if she had wanted to. She had to be there, staring at the words.

There were no curtains on her front window anymore. She was exposed to the entire street as she stood there, nude. People could watch her. They could film her. They could point and laugh.

There were two other holes in the wall, in line with the button. The first was at about mouth height, and three times a day a little tube would extend from this hole and push towards her mouth. She had to open her mouth and accept it, or else it would literally push her away from the button and her collar would start to shock her.

The tube would feed her. Sometimes it fed her milk. Sometimes it fed her yoghurt, or a kind of vegetable smoothie.

Other times, she was certain what she was swallowing was cum. Once, she thought it might have been urine. And she had to swallow it, because the tube wouldn’t retract until the collar detected she had swallowed. She learned to accept what was put in her mouth and swallow like a good girl.

The other hold was at crotch height, and at irregular intervals, a dildo would emerge and push against her pussy lips. If she wanted to keep her nose on the button, she had to spread her legs and let it in.

And she hated the dildo, because it was *cruel*. Sometimes it just fucked her. Other times it buzzed like a vibrator. Occasionally it spurted some mysterious liquid into her pussy, which would then drip out of her, and she couldn’t even see what it was without taking her nose off the button. 

And, more often than she liked, it would *shock* her, discharging electricity directly into her pussy. 

The first time this had happened she had jerked away in horror – but then her collar had gone off, and that was *worse*, and it had kept shocking her until she mustered the courage to return to the button and deliberate push the dildo that had violated her back into her cunt. It shocked her again immediately, of course – but this time she merely allowed her hips to jerk violently, but kept her nose on the button. It was awful, fucking something that hurt her – but on her second day of this treatment, she unexpectedly orgasmed from an electric shock, and then, to her surprise, the feeding tube emerged, and fed her something sweet tasting – something that turned about to be addictive.

After that, she had wanted more, and had learned that orgasming from the shock dildo was the key to pleasure, and she let herself be trained to cum from having her pussy electro-shocked.

Officer Smith told her that by the time he was done with her, the only thing that would allow her to cum was the feel of having a cattle prod discharged inside her fuckhole. He told her that when she was being fucked by the dildo, and as terrified as that idea made her, it also made her cum.

And so she spent every day with her nose on the button, letting the machine push whatever it wanted into her mouth and cunt. 

Each day before work, and each day after work, Officer Smith would come by her house. He had a key to her house now. So did the other officers at his station, and sometimes he’d send them instead, if he was busy. In the evenings, they would disengage the button, and then they would rape her, and then they would let her use the toilet and shower, before strapping her into her bed with a dildo gag in her mouth and a vibrator pressed against her clitoris.

In the morning they would rape her in her bed, then untie her (except for her hands) and lead her back to the button.

It was a regular routine. It was awful, but Jenny got used to it quickly. And besides, she had never cum this often or this hard in her life. Wasn’t she happier now, really? She hadn’t been allowed contraceptives since the ordeal began. She wondered if she was pregnant. She worried that if her belly swelled with a baby, it might prevent her getting her nose close enough to the wall to press the button.

Then one day, Officer Smith stayed longer than normal after raping her in the morning. He went to his patrol car, and came back with tools, which he took to an area of the wall near Jenny’s button.

“What are you doing?” she dared to ask.

“Installing a second button,” he said.

She didn’t dare ask why. But he heard her silent question anyway.

“We got a call at the station,” he said. “It was from someone who was worried about their sister Jenny. They said they didn’t know where Jenny lived since she had moved to this state, but that Jenny used to regularly call them each weekend on the phone, but the calls had stopped, and she was worried about her sister.”

Jenny’s blood went cold.

“So we invited her down the station to talk about it,” he continued, “and damn, Jenny – you should have told me you had a sister. And you should have told me she was *cute*.”

Jenny moaned.

“Anyway, she was pretty fun to rape,” said Smith. “All the guys at the precinct had a turn. But we can’t keep her in the cells there forever.” He looked at her. “Aren’t you excited, Jenny? You’re going to have *company*…”


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