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Gatomon keeps silent during their hours-long journey out of the desert.

She hasn't given up. But there's no point in struggling until they get to wherever it is her captor is taking her. Gilgamon leads her by the length of chain attached to her slave collar, his pace making no concessions to her state of exhaustion. He gives the chain a tug whenever she lags too many steps behind.

Resisting would only be a waste of energy in this heat. Even if she got away from him now, her powers are limited without her metal claws and Holy Ring. It would take him only seconds to catch up with her again; walking is difficult enough on sand, but running would be nigh impossible, especially so while her body is still bruised and sore from the rough treatment he gave her earlier.

Better to conserve her strength. There will be plenty of opportunities to escape later--at least, she hopes so.

The sun is burning low and red like a cooling ember by the time a city appears on the horizon. Its smooth sandstone walls appear golden in the sunset, casting long shadows onto the surrounding dunes. Gatomon searches her memory for a name. Judging by its relative position and isolation, it must be the city they call_Prisoner's Shelter._ She's never visited this place before, and for good reason: it's a slaver town. Nobody but the lowest of the low visit there by choice.

As they approach the city gates, Gatomon's fur bristles at the mere thought of such a place existing. Who knows how many Digimon are kept here against their will. Living in squalor and pain, used for everything from manual labor to smuggling to sex servants. It seems Gilgamon wasn't bluffing, after all. He really does intend to sell her to some rich, cruel master, to be used and abused for his pleasure. A fresh wave of disgust passes over her.

Over my dead body, she thinks, grimly.

But, no, she won't give him the chance. Her mind and eyes are still sharp; she'll spot a way out of this, then it will simply be a matter of sticking to the shadows until she can escape back out into the desert. If he locks her up somewhere and goes to sleep for the night, she'll have hours and hours to formulate a plan.

The sand beneath their feet turns to cobbled roads as they head into the city, joining the busy crowds of masters and slaves going about their late afternoon business. There's an eclectic mix of smells in the air: rotting things, street filth, body odor from all the unwashed slaves. Passing by a tavern, a strong waft of stale beer almost makes Gatomon gag. She can hear revelry inside, jeers and raucous laughter. As she passes by the window, she spots a crowd surrounding one tearful, naked female Digimon, being forced to dance for them against her will.

She hesitates at the sight of that poor girl, wishing she could charge in there and rescue her. She almost tries to. But Gilgamon yanks her chain, forcing her to stumble forward, and soon the tavern has fallen out of sight, swallowed by the confusing maze of city streets.

Nobody bats an eye at the pair as they head deeper into the heart of the city, as if one Digimon leading another in chains is a perfectly normal thing to see--and here, it undoubtedly is. Gatomon spies many Digimon hurrying through the streets, their faces drawn and haggard from exhaustion. They keep their heads low, their entire body language submissive. Most are working; the sound of clinking chains seems ever present in the air. Others are being publicly punished, their masters whipping them for some minor transgression or another, until their backs are streaked red with bleeding wounds and their cheeks are stained with tears.

Gilgamon finally stops in front of a building at the back of a dark, dirty alleyway. He shoves open the wooden door and sends Gatomon inside before him. She barely keeps her footing as she trips over the threshold into the foyer, then stands frozen, squinting until her eyes adjust to the light.

She first notices the cherry-red walls, followed by the matching sofa-chairs lining the walls. Candles flicker in ornate sconces around the room, bathing it in a low, intimate light. It would be oddly welcoming, if not for the thick smell of sex and misery in the air, giving away the establishment's sinister nature, no matter how hard the decor tries to mask it.

Gatomon tucks her limbs against herself protectively.

Gilgamon shuts the door behind them. He then drags her toward the front desk, where a small golden bell rings out their presence at the shake of one of his many hands. A moment later, a thin, leaf-winged Digimon enters through a door to the left. On spotting them, she gives Gatomon a haughty scowl.

"And what piece of street trash have you brought me this time?" she says, eyeing Gatomon up and down appraisingly. Despite her tone, she quirks an eyebrow, seemingly impressed by what she sees.

"No trash, Sunflowmon. A treasure from the desert," Gilgamon replies, shoving Gatomon forward a step. "Told you I'd bring you something worthwhile."

"I'll be the judge of that." Sunflowmon walks a slow circle around her, peering at her body from all angles, like a judge inspecting a prized poodle at a dog show. "Hmm. Champion-level, I see. What's your name, little flower?"

Gatomon ignores her, casting her gaze past the female Digimon, who she guesses must be the owner of this place. She sees a slight smirk appear on Sunflowmon's face a moment before something thin and sharp whips across the side of her arm. Gatomon flinches, unprepared for the sudden bright flash of pain.

"I asked you a question."

Gatomon grits her teeth and scowls. If her hands weren't bound behind her back, she'd be clawing this one's eyes out. She hadn't noticed it before, but she sees now that the owner holds a long, stripped reed of some sort, dried and hardened with resin to form a stiff cane.

When she receives no answer, Sunfowmon raises it in the air again.

God damnit. "Gatomon."

That smirk reappears, and there's a brief pause before the cane whips across her arm again, somehow finding the exact same place to strike as before. The pain this time is intense enough to make Gatomon gasp in shock.

"What the hell? I answered you!" she yells, incensed at the unfair treatment. The remark only brings a third, marksman-like strike on the same place on her arm, and she has to bite her tongue to stop herself making a sound.

"She's got quite the attitude," Sunflowmon remarks. "She'll be difficult to subdue."

"We can split the profits, 50-50," Gilgamon offers, but the other shakes her head.

"This one's a warrior. Just look at her; those eyes are war-hardened. Her training will be long and expensive."

"But think of the price she'll fetch!" he argues. "I've had rich buyers badgering me for years for a toy that won't break after a week or two of abuse. Imagine their faces when I present them a fully trained Champion? She's resilient, and tight as a vice. I've already had a go at her, and she still managed to walk here under her own steam."

Sunflowmon rolls her eyes. "Really, Gilgamon? Sampling your own merchandise?"

He shrugs. "No better way to judge its quality. I'm sure you can attest to that."

Sunflowmon narrows her eyes in thought for a moment, before settling on a decision. "Fine. We'll split her half-and-half."

Sure hope she doesn't mean that literally, Gatmon thinks, watching the pair of them shake on it with unmasked hatred.

"And by the way, you're to refer to me as 'Mistress' inside this building. I have told you before."

"Yeah, yeah." One of Gilgamon's free hands waves her complaint away. HE hands over the chain attached to Gatomon's collar. "Send word when she's ready."

He steals a final sideways glance at Gatomon before leaving the building the same way they came in. Sunflowmon promptly turns back to the door behind her, and with a tug of the chain, Gatomon is compelled to follow along behind her.

---

The cell is dark and cold. As the night deepens and the desert air grows frigid, Gatomon sits shivering against the wall, her hands locked to a rusty iron fixture that no amount of struggling is able to budge. It took a full hour after she was locked in here to concede the effort was pointless, only a waste of energy, so now she hangs still and quiet in the dark, listening to voices echoing down the halls from other parts of the building: sobbing, cries of pain, and others still: the unmistakable moans of pleasure.

She can barely see the four corners of the tiny cell. It would be pitch black in here, if not for the barred window on the far wall, letting broken beams of silver moonlight spill in across the stone floor, just enough to make out how bare the room is. Other than a set of manacles nailed to the floor some distance away, the cell is entirely empty--save for the rats scurrying around. Comfort is clearly not a consideration the owner of this place deems important. There's nowhere to sit, and not even a bench to sleep on.

Not that it makes any difference to someone chained to the wall, she supposes.

She wouldn't want to sleep, anyway, even if she could. She needs to stay alert. An opportunity could come her way any moment, and she can't let it slip by her unawares. She strains her ears and eyes, but as the minutes drag into hours, her focus inevitably starts to slip.

Exhaustion and the cold eventually pull her under, her eyes growing heavier and heavier, until they close of their own accord. Her body sags forward, held upright by her pinned arms.

The screech of the door swinging open startles her back awake in an instant.

Panic prickles along her scalp. How long was she asleep? It's impossible to tell, but the sky through the window is a dusky blue-grey, light enough that her visitor is recognisable as soon as she steps into the room.

"Sunflowmon," she recalls, noting with displeasure the dryness of her throat. She could really do with a drink; the oasis was the last time she saw clean water.

There's a loud crack, and pain streaks across her cheek, bright and hot. The cane moved so fast through the air it was practically invisible. "You are to address me as 'Mistress'," the stern Digimon instructs. "Now, sit still while I take a proper look at you."

Gatomon growls at her. "How about I call you 'bitch', instead, bitch?"

Another strike, the sound of it like a branch being snapped in two. Even though Gatomon was prepared for it that time, it still hurt, but she laughs defiantly.

"Is that all you got, bitch? It'll take a lot more than--"

A third strike cuts off her sentence, and a fourth follows it before she can even lift her head again, this one so hard it knocks her face sideways. She rights herself, throwing a dangerous snarl up at her abuser, but her brazenness is punished by a fifth white-hot strike that makes the back of her eyes sting with moisture.

This time, she keeps her head bowed. Her face feels scalded, like someone just dragged a white-hot needle across it in several long, sharp lines. She hopes it won't leave a permanent mark; the idea that any of this could be permanent, that she might never escape this hellish experience, makes her skin crawl.

"The sooner you leave behind these silly notions of resistance, the easier this will all be for you." The owner speaks in smooth, disinterested tones, as if this entire ordeal is so common to her that it's mundane, even boring. "Forget your old life. You are a slave, now. You are here to be trained, and like any poorly-behaved animal, if you make things difficult, your punishment will be swift and without compromise."

Gatomon breathes heavily through her nose, her rage simmering like a pot threatening to boil over. If only she had the use of her hands... But maybe she could use her feet, instead? One false move, that's all it would take. She could trip the bitch, wrap her legs around her stupid green neck and squeeze the life out of her faster than she could cry for help.

Annoyingly, the Digimon seems well aware of Gatomon's range of movement. She keeps a measured distance, even as she moves further into the room, examining her prisoner from different angles. She presses the pointed end of the cane against the ugly bruise on Gatomon's arm. "Bend over for me, would you, flower? I'd like to see that tight hole Gilgamon was raving about when he brought you here."

The gob of spit hits her square in the chin.

There's a beat of silence, and Gatomon enjoys the sight of it sliding down Sunflowmon's face, before the cane whips like lightning across the side of her head.

"Stupid girl."

Gatomon pulls at her restraints. "Whip me as much as you want, I'll never cave!" she yells.

"Have it your way, then." Sunflowmon's expression darkens as she wipes her chin dry. "I was going to pair you with an appropriately-sized trainer, one who would match your body without putting too great a strain on it. But since you seem intent on suffering through this every step of the way..."

She turns and exits the cell without finishing the thought. The metal door slams closed behind her with a concussion of air, the sound of it echoing off the stone walls for several long seconds before the cell settles back into stillness.

Gatomon doesn't regret what she did. She refuses to. She's going to make this as difficult as possible for them, make_them_ regret ever capturing her. No matter what happens next, the memory of the bitch's face twisting in displeasure as saliva dripped off her chin is worth a thousand more strikes of that godforsaken cane.

Still, she wonders at those ominous parting words. What did she mean by finding a trainer who would_match her body_?

---

The question hangs unanswered in her mind for several days.

They keep her locked up in the cell for long hours at a time: starving her during the day, waiting until the night draws in to bring her any water to quench the day's unbearable thirst. She refuses it, and after several unsuccessful attempts to get her to open her mouth, the Gazimon guard who brought the cup shrugs and pours it over her head, laughing as he does.

She waits until he leaves. Then, as soon as his footsteps recede down the hall, she shamefully holds out her tongue, desperately trying to capture the water dripping from her nose. It's not nearly enough to slake her thirst; her whole mouth feels like sandpaper. She's pretty sure the moisture is absorbed into her tongue long before any of it can slip down her throat.

But at least they didn't see. They can't be allowed to see any weakness.

They don't bring her another cup for over sixteen hours, and by that time, her breath is rasping from between cracked lips. Her head is pounding, and she can't keep her eyes open. She drifts in and out of a fitful sleep, her mind conjuring glimpses of tall waterfalls and winding rivers, the water evaporating any time her dream-self could get close enough to scoop it into her mouth.

Her rest is disturbed by a fist grabbing the fur at the back of her head and yanking it upright.

"It don't make no difference to me if you dry up like a prune," the Gazimon guard mumbles, shoving the cup to her unresponsive lips, "but the Mistress wants you well-watered for your training. So I ain't giving you a choice, this time."

She has to remind herself not to be thankful. It comes easier than expected, as true to his word, he doesn't wait, and the water spills into her throat before she has a chance to block its entry. A large amount slips down the wrong tube and she splutters and coughs, struggling against his grip, her body jerking to expel the liquid from her lungs.

He pours the rest into her mouth, heedless of her struggle, before unceremoniously releasing his grip and letting her head flop back down. She can't make sense of what he does next, her mind too preoccupied with the coughing fit that's taken over her body, but suddenly the metal around her wrists detaches from the wall and she stumbles forward, her arms rigid behind her. She falls face-first onto the stone floor.

"Careful. You're meant to be breaking her_in_, not simply breaking her," a familiar voice intones. It's Mistress--no, Sunflowmon, Gatomon corrects herself angrily. She'd rather die before ever willingly call the bitch by her preferred title. Gingerly, she bends her arms until she can place them beneath her.

"Yes, Mistress," the Gazimon responds. He bends down to grab Gatomon's arms, but she was waiting for this; summoning her strength, she manages to twist onto her back, draw her feet up tight to her body, then kick out like a spring toy, aiming squarely for his chest. The blow sends him flying against the far wall.

Adrenaline rushes through her veins, and she scrabbles to her feet, bolting blindly for the door and colliding immediately with another guard blocking the doorway. He barely flinches as she bounces off him, but far from deterred, Gatomon readies her claws and lunges forward.

This is it; it's now or never!

Her arms are snatched from behind, jerking her roughly back before she can take a single swing.

Those same powerful hands throw her onto her hands and knees, and then the Gazimon is mounting her without warning, his cock already hard and insisting itself against her entrance. Sunflowmon stoops to lock her wrists into the floor-mounted manacles, and Gatomon has no idea how she got into this position--it all happened so fast.

No,no, this was her chance...!

She tries to buck him off her, but his arms are clamped around her waist, and there's not enough time to prepare for the cruel burn when he penetrates her, his cock feeling more like a thick pillar of stone than a flesh-and-blood appendage. Gatomon's mouth falls open, her throat constricting with the effort to not give voice to the pain. It could be the rawness of his entry; it also be the sheer size of him.

She squeezes her eyes shut, her claws curling into tight fists.

"Does it hurt, little flower?" That smug, arrogant voice has quickly cemented itself in Gatomon's mind as intolerable, a sound like nails on a chalkboard, that makes her want to leap up and claw the bitch's eyes out. "It doesn't have to. There is nothing you can do to change what's happening. You are a slave now; get used to the idea. Relax, and you might even start enjoying it."

"Never," Gatomon seethes. The guard at her back starts to grind in and out of her slowly, making her feel every inch of him.

"I wouldn't speak so soon."

The guard's speed picks up at some unseen signal.

Gatomon presses her forehead to the stone between her fists. The walls around them echo with the obscene sound of his hips slapping against hers, and it takes all her concentration to stay quiet. But she's determined not to give them the satisfaction of hearing her suffer.

"You will be trained like this daily from this point on," Sunflowmon continues. "Every day, I will come to you and ask you to submit. If you agree to do so, you will be moved out of this cell and into much nicer accommodations. You will have a bed. You will be well-fed and allowed to drink fresh water, juice, wine--whatever the tongue desires."

Gatomon's eyes fly open, her rage spilling over. "I'd rather die!"

Sunflowmon laughs, the sound light and musical. "As I said: don't speak too soon."

Her growl of frustration morphs into a low groan as the Gazimon's pace slows into something hard and brutal, his cock hammering into her like a mechanical piston. The assault on her sore muscles is relentless. She knows what they're trying to do; it's fully obvious that all she would have to do is relax, and none of this would be necessary. The only thing her defiance is doing is making it hurt that much more, making it last so much longer.

She knows it would make rational sense to give them what they want. It would be easy to let the tension out of her body, push back against him, let the moans rise and fall from her lips like wind gusting across the desert dunes. She could make him enjoy it, deliberately clench around him, make him cum quickly, and then he would be gone and they'd finally leave her the fuck alone.

And Sunflowmon's promises, she had to admit, were a wicked temptation.

But even as the thought crosses her mind, she angrily tosses it aside.No way! She won't stand for that kind of humiliation. Give herself up? Hell no. No true warrior would give up their honor to take the easy way out.

No, there would be other chances. She may have messed this one up, but next time, she won't make the same mistakes.

When it becomes clear to her captors that Gatomon won't capitulate to her treatment so easily, Sunflowmon bends down and strokes a hand gently across her marked cheek. "I understand your reluctance," she says. "I don't expect anything less from one such as you. But eventually, you'll see the light, and oh, what a beautiful sight that will be... You are going to be my greatest creation yet."

She stands then, not waiting for Gatmon to reply (or perhaps to avoid being spat at again), and heads for the cell door. "Feel free to finish in her," she tells the guard. "And make a note that she's to receive no food until after tomorrow's training."

---

It's dark.

The stars are dim tonight. Gatomon can't even make out her manacled hands in front of her face.

It will be dark for many more hours to come. She draws her knees up to her body, shivering in the cold. She can't decide if the nights should come as a relief, or something to dread; the humidity and heat during the day is bad enough, but the nights get so cold that her fingers and toes turn numb. She flexes them repeatedly to keep the circulation going in them, but it's a wonder she hasn't gotten frostbite.

At least it's a distraction from the clenching hunger in her stomach.

All of the day's sweat clings to her fur like a frosty coat of ice. She tries to remember how long she's been here. A week? Ten days? It frustrates her that she can't recall the exact number; they've all started bleeding into each other, every day following the same hateful pattern. At dawn, a Gazimon enters her cell and offers her water and a piece of bread. If she's feeling particularly spiteful, she'll refuse both. But hours later, after another long, brutal 'training' session, she'll regret the dryness of her mouth almost as much as the dryness between her legs.

The guard's orgasm almost comes as a relief: it means a brief respite from the pain, even if now it's not just one guard they send, but two, and sometimes even three. As soon as the first one finishes, the other takes over, and sometimes the session can last fully half the day before they've all spent themselves inside her.

Whether any of this is sanctioned by the owner, she has no idea. Her suspicions are heightened even further when, on one particular day, they unchain her from the wall and take her two at a time, one grinding into her from behind, while the other stuffs his cock down her throat.

Her choking and gagging only seem to amuse them.

True to her word, the owner pays Gatomon a visit at the end of each day. Ignoring the smell, and the dried, crusted stains in her fur as she lies trembling and aching on the ground, Sunflowmon smooths her hand appreciatively over Gatomon's flanks, and lower, more intimately, over the curve of her ass.

"Are you ready to submit?" she asks.

Gatmon's answer is always the same, though the word becomes more difficult to say as the days pass. She tells herself it's because of malnourishment; that she lacks the strength to project her voice like before. That the dryness in her throat is making it increasingly harder to speak.

She absolutely_won't_ admit that it's because she hesitates longer and longer each time, knowing that it would be so simple, so easy to give the bitch what she wants. Knowing that her refusal will only invite another long day of pain and starvation.

She can no longer see an end to this; no way out, no hope of escape. And she knows none of it will change, so long as her answer remains the same.

Even still, giving up is not an option.

Gatomon's eyes burn with hatred as she stares up at her captor. Once again, she forces the bitter word out from between parched, cracked lips.

"Never."

---

The courtyard at the back of the brothel is a simple unroofed patch of land, surrounded by a tall, barbed-wire fence. Several wooden posts jut up from the dirt like enormous splinters.

Gatomon is tied to one of the posts, her wrists bound tightly around it with rope. It chafes her skin and cuts off the circulation to her fingers, but it might be the only reason she's still standing upright; her legs couldn't possibly support her weight, no matter how thin she's become. She can't remember the last time she had a decent meal, and the pattern of ritual starvation during her so-called 'training' shows no sign of abating.

She feels like a piece of meat on a kebab skewer. It's an unbearably hot day; the sun sits high overhead, a giant million-watt bulb beating down onto the courtyard with waves of oppressive heat, such that the edges of objects beyond a few feet ripple like the surface of a disturbed pond. The air is oppressively thick and muggy, and the only breeze comes from the wake of Sunflowmon's cane as it whips through the air, sharp as a razor.

The strike burns across Gatomon's shoulder blades with a_thwack_, and she bites back a hiss of pain, her muscles stiffening reflexively. Another cane strike swiftly follows it; another bright flash of pain, followed by the sizzling, tingling afterburn as her skin turns red and raises in welts beneath her fur.

She_hates_ that fucking cane.

She's begun to fantasize about getting a hold of it and snapping it in two. Or better yet, turning it on its owner. She'd love to give the bitch a taste of her own medicine. But she wouldn't simply whip her with it, oh, no. She'd do far worse.

Today is the first time they've taken her out of the cell since Gilgamon delivered her here.

It felt good to leave the building--she almost smiled as they dragged her outside. She'd been staring through the dark at the same four dingy corners for so many days, that when the sunlight finally hit her eyes, it felt like a supernova had happened. The heat and light filled her with a burst of bitter joy.

But her good mood didn't last, and all she wants to do now is return to her dark, shaded cell.

She attempted to escape again last night. This, she imagines, is her punishment. But they also seem to be using the opportunity as a demonstration. Lined up behind Sunflowmon, a string of trembling Digimon slaves of all shapes and sizes stand watching her nervously, chained together by their ankles. They flinch in sympathy every time the sound of the cane cracks through the air.

"Take heed of what happens to disobedient slaves," Sunflowmon instructs them, her voice carrying across the otherwise silent courtyard.

It only hardens Gatomon's resolve; she can't let them see her be broken, or else any hope they may still be holding onto will be lost. Perhaps, if she endures it with dignity and strength, it might even inspire a mass rebellion.

"Look at the defiance in her," Sunflowmon says. "See how her spirit is full of fire, despite her body's weakness? She resists her training every step of the way. Through pain and discomfort, she refuses to comply. For what reason, hmm? You--" She points her cane at a scared-looking Pandamon. "What does her behaviour say to you?"

"I... She... She's brave?" he stammers, clearly terrified for being singled out.

Wrong answer. The crack of the cane makes Gatomon flinch, despite not being the recipient of its poisonous bite. The Pandamon cries out and ducks his face against his neighbour.

"This is_not_ bravery!" Sunflowmon yells. "You may be tempted to think her brave, but let me tell you, there is nothing brave about prolonging the inevitable. Do you know what her so-called bravery has accomplished for her in the six weeks she has been in our possession?"

Has it really been six weeks? Gatomon feels her heart sink a little, despite herself. That's far too long. She thought she would have been able to escape by now. This situation is starting to feel worryingly permanent.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing, except to bring her more hardship than she ever would have had to endure otherwise. It is pure stupidity. But..." Sunflowmon turns back to her target, a salacious smile spreading across her face. "That is exactly what the training is for."

The next strike forces a grunt of pain out of Gatomon. She clamps her mouth shut, breathing hard through her nose. Her back feels like it's on fire.

"Do you want this to stop, little flower?"

Another strike tries to force a reply out of her, but she holds it back.Of course she wants it to stop, more than anything in the world. But that's not the real question being asked. What they really want to hear is her total surrender, her willing obedience. They want to turn her into the perfect pleasure slave. She knows the great value she represents, if only they can break her. It's possibly the only reason they haven't written her off as a loss yet.

She wonders how much longer they'll keep trying, before they decide the effort is no longer worth the ongoing cost. If she held out that long, what would they do? Surely they wouldn't just release her.No, she thinks bitterly. They would probably kill her. Sunflowmon would whip her with that horrible cane until she was flayed open like shredded paper. Or perhaps they would simply lock her in her cell until she died of dehydration.

Either way wouldn't take long. Not in her current state.

As the whipping continues, she forgets the presence of the other slaves watching. She can no longer keep quiet; low groans and bitten-back gasps startle out of her lungs with every quicksilver lash, and it's all she can do to hold herself together just enough to not cry out as the pain of each successive hit inches closer and closer to the limits of her tolerance.

---

Several days later, Gatmon yearns for the fresh open air of the courtyard.

At least the air out there smelled fresh, and the heat wasn't so unbearable as it is in her cell. But both the smell and the heat wouldn't be so bad, if not for the sweaty body pressed up against her, the guard fucking her against the wall where her arms are chained above her head.

Over his shoulder, Sunflowmon observes Gatomon's reactions, her arms folded across her chest. She's waiting. Waiting for Gatomon's surrender, willing or otherwise. She must think it will happen soon, because she has been present for the past three training sessions, observing the entire thing and giving Gatomon multiple chances to answer her oft-repeated question.

The Gazimon has been thrusting into her for over an hour. He's the same guard who usually leads her daily training sessions. His stamina and self-control is incredible, no doubt honed through years of practice on other captives. But even he shows signs of tiring, his mouth hanging open, breath heavy, brow creased in concentration.

Gatomon wonders what the_Mistress_ would do if her guard lost control of himself before she said he could finish. Would she whip him, too? She almost laughs at the mental image. That would be a sight to see. It would almost be worth pretending, just for a moment, to give up. She could take him by surprise, overwhelm him with pleasurable sensations. The tension in his body is so tight, it would probably only take seconds to tip him over the edge.

And then when Sunflowmon asked if she had changed her mind, Gatomon could feign ignorance. Anger would flash in her eyes, and the guard would barely have time to pull away before the beating would commence.

Gatomon's weak grin at the idea doesn't go unnoticed. "Something amuses you?" Sunflowmon asks.

"No," she rasps in reply, but she can't school her expression. She keeps picturing the scene, the guard cowering on the floor, crying and begging for his punishment to stop. A cruel thought like that would have horrified her a month or two ago, regardless of the circumstances. Today, it's the funniest thing she's ever pictured.

Sunflowmon narrows her eyes. "Perhaps you've grown used to your trainer. Fortunately, I employ a variety of staff for situations such as this. Guard, you may finish up with her. Brutus will be taking over for the remainder of today's training."

The guard lets out a sigh of relief, as if he had been waiting for permission to do exactly that, and his thrusts grow shallow and quick as he chases his long-delayed orgasm. Gatomon braces herself, but it takes him only another thirty seconds to grow rigid and start pulsing inside her, the heat of his cum stinging her rubbed-raw flesh and drawing a pained groan from her lips.

Gatomon sags in her wrist cuffs when he leaves, grateful for a moment's rest.

Sunflowmon returns a few minutes later. Behind her arrives a different, unfamiliar Gazimon, who wastes no time crowding up against their captive. He is significantly larger than the previous guard; taller, more muscular, and--as she quickly discovers--possessing of a much larger, thicker cock than his predecessor. He pushes it in torturously slowly, such that Gatmon's groan is a long, unbroken sound deep in her throat.

Fuck, he's too much...!

It feels like she's being split in half. Her muscles try to reject him, to clamp shut against the intruder, but there's nothing she can do to stop its slow, stinging progress, helped on by the slickness left inside her by the previous guard.

"Brutus here will be your trainer from now on." Sunflower smiles with satisfaction at the expression of shocked pain frozen on Gatomon's face. "It will take you much, much longer to get used to him, if you ever do. But on the plus side, after he's taken you every which way a few times, the average male will pose you absolutely no struggle."

Brutus leers at her with eyes full of dark promise and carnal hunger. His fingertips press bruises into her thighs, his grip preventing her from angling her hips away, forcing her to take him as deep as he can reach. He's as well-trained as any of the Bitch's pets; he knows exactly to make it hurt most.

The thought of him returning day after day fills Gatomon with cold dread. She can't... She won't survive it. Might not even survive today, let alone the days and weeks ahead. The Mistress is pushing her well beyond her limits, but does she even know? Gatomon's brave front could be masking the true extent of how much she's suffering. There's only one thing she could do to make it stop--

The one thing she promised never to do, no matter how tough things got.

As Brutus forces himself into her, Gatomon scrabbles to keep her thoughts from tearing away from her in tattered streaks. Has it really come to this? To surrender... Or to pretend to surrender, at least. It's her only option left. She hates to admit it, but the Mistress was right: resisting hasn't done her a lick of good since she's been here, and now it's set to become unbearably worse if she doesn't cave in.

Something has to change, and it has to be her. Her attitude, her approach to all this. If she doesn't, then she might as well give up all hope and consign herself to death, because that's what will happen. It is true that she told herself she would rather die if the situation ever became so hopeless. But now that she's facing it, even death feels like giving up too soon.

Gatomon knocks her head against the stone in frustration. When both options feel like surrender, does it matter which one she picks?

She has to approach this logically, which would be difficult enough even without Brutus fucking into her at a steady, bruising pace, his mouth panting foul-smelling breaths against hers.

If she does nothing, she dies. That much she knows. To let herself die would be final, but at least she could say she never gave an inch to their demands. She'll deny Gilgamon and Sunflowmon their dirty profits, and deprive some wealthy pervert his ill-gotten prize. A satisfying enough outcome; she could die well knowing her loss would cause so much anger and frustration.

But if she surrenders... It wouldn't be real, but she would have to act the part. She would have to sink to some new lows, do things she doesn't know if she's capable of. But if she could stomach it... Eventually they would have to let their guard down, wouldn't they? But she would have to be careful. Not too eager, at the start. Just a hint of obedience. Make Mistress think...

Gatomon's eyes fly open. How long has she been calling the bitch_Mistress_?

Well, whatever. It doesn't mean anything. It doesn't mean any of this training is getting to her, no more than her seriously considering the option to pretend to be obedient. The bitch only needs to_believe_ it's working. And for that, Gatomon will have to take this slowly.

Still, that doesn't stop bile rising in the back of her throat when she opens her mouth to utter the hateful words. "I'll... I'll do it."

"What's that, little flower?" Sunflowmon steps closer. "What did you say?"

"I'll obey," Gatomon says, her voice thick with displeasure. How much of it is part of the act she's trying to put on, she couldn't say. "Please, I can't take any more. I submit."

"You really think it's that easy to fool me, do you?" Sunflowmon smirks. "You must think very poorly of me. Not that I blame you."

Gatomon's mind flashes with panic. She has to prove herself, but how? She can't relax beneath Brutus, no matter how hard she might try. She can't reach out and touch him, her arms pinned as they are. All she can think to do is bring her legs up--a difficult task in itself, with how weak she is--and lock her ankles behind his hips. Then, against all her instincts, she pulls him forward encouragingly, at the same time leaning forward and pressing her open mouth to his.

The move catches Brutus off guard, his thrusts pausing briefly, but then his tongue is forcing its way greedily into her mouth, and his hips start thrusting quicker, harder. Gatomon suppresses a shudder at his bitter taste and sucks at his tongue, drawing a groan from him that Sunflowmon can't possibly miss.

Gatomon can't tell if her display is working, but it's certainly having an effect on Brutus. His conduct before was that of carefully measured torture; now his movements feel more erratic, pleasure overriding his instruction to make this last.

"Slow down, Brutus," the Mistress warns, but he doesn't seem to hear it. Gatomon almost wishes he did; it takes all her focus to hold herself together, to ride out the pain as his cock grinds in and out of her body, hot as molten rock and pulsing all along its rigid length. Gatomon moans into his mouth, chasing his tongue with hers, doing anything she can think of to heighten his pleasure.

Glancing over his shoulder, she sees Sunflowmon watching them, her expression unreadable.

She can only hope that it looks and sounds genuine; it's good enough for Brutus, at least, who gives one final, punishing thrust, hard enough to pin Gatomon's hips against the rough stone at her back, and cums deep inside her with a howl of pleasure.

Gatomon shuts her eyes, grimacing as the sticky warmth spreads through her. It's fortunate that Brutus still has his face pressed to hers; she doesn't think she could hide her disgust from Sunflowmon. She keeps her legs locked around him until the pulsing in his cock stops. He begins to soften, slipping out with a filthy wet sound when he pulls away and steps back, looking flushed and somewhat dazed.

"Interesting," Sunflowmon remarks, watching her captive pant and tremble against the wall. She steps closer, lifting Gatmon's chin with her hand, to peer closely into her eyes.

"I'll do as you ask," Gatomon manages, her exhaustion lending itself to the authenticity of her words. She surprises even herself with how genuine it sounds. "I'll obey. I'll be good. I promise."

The Mistress studies Gatomon's eyes for several long minutes, frowning. Whatever she finds in them, it must satisfy whatever doubts she might've had at Gatomon's sudden surrender, because her face eventually smooths and a vainglorious smile takes over.

"Very good, little flower," she says. "I knew you would come around."

"Does this mean--" Gatomon pauses, unsure if she should speak out of turn. But the Mistress quirks an eyebrow and nods, encouraging her to continue. "My... training. Will the other guard be coming back?"

Something wicked glints in Sunflowmon's eyes. Gatmon's heart sinks, predicting her response even before she says it. "No, I don't think so. It took Brutus to break you, after all, so I think he should be your new trainer from now on. You would like him to stay, wouldn't you, little flower?"

Gatomon wonders if it's too late to change her mind, simply demand that they kill her now, because the thought of Brutus taking over permanently as her trainer fills her with dread. But she's come this far, she can't back down now. If she reveals her deception this early, she may never get another chance; they'll 'train' her until she really_does_ break. She already feels close enough to losing her mind to the pain, the hunger, the monotony of endless hours left alone in her squalid cell.

Schooling her features as best she can, Gatomon forces a small smile and nods. "Yes... Mistress. I would like that."

The Mistress's smile grows wider. "Good."