Breaking Tail 02 - Punishment
It had been three months since Gatomon was collared. She had assented to that indignity only so she could set foot outside of the room. The two Gazimon had thought she was in league with their captor, but she didn't really care what they thought. At least, she told herself she didn't.
Viximon was too young to fully understand what was happening, so thank goodness for that.
This was Gatomon's fourth time in The Box. It was a dark room. It was a small room. She could stand and wriggle about, but not walk. There was a pair of nozzles near the level of her mouth -- one dispensed a slurry of food and the other dispensed water. There was a gentle buzzing sound when they were refilled. Occasional footsteps walked by. Time had no real meaning in The Box.
Her first trip to the box was when she tried to keep Viximon from being taken out of the suite alone. She didn't know why she had this strong maternal instinct towards the golden puff of fur, but she did have it, and she had been given her wish -- she was taken with Viximon up until the moment that she was put into The Box and the door was locked. The Gazimon said that visit had lasted two days when she got back. The female was friendlier then.
They were taught how to act like pets. Demeaning, but bearable. For ten days, Gatomon had put up with the training, purring and mewling like a helpless animal from the human world. Then she had lashed out at the trainer when he started to tease her sexually. She was taken by Witchmon to The Box, to be released when "she's learned her lesson." The isolation started to gnaw at her that time. Apparently five days.
They were trained to have sex for show. Apparently they were having "breeding" sex for human entertainment. Viximon was elsewhere. Gatomon asked if they could have pleasurable sex. That was her third trip to The Box. More than eight days. The Gazimon had tags on their collars. The male was now being called Haruki, the female was called Velvet.
They were moved out the next day, and a new face joined them a few days later -- a Floramon. Viximon was being escorted around on a leash and seemed to have no objections or resistance to being enslaved. Gatomon was the only one who seemed unwilling to actually become the slave their human captor wanted them to be.
"Are you alright," Floramon's voice sounded muffled through the wall of The Box. "They want me to get your apology, miss Gatomon."
Apology. No, she wasn't ready for that yet. They had taken her to a training room where she was going to be chained to the floor, held on all fours, and blindfolded. Then a variety of human and Digimon partners were supposed to come in and use her however they saw fit. She had attacked the man with the chains and tried to run out of the room.
She was not authorized to leave the room, and the disruptor spiked through her body, a fire burning up every nerve for what seemed like hours. The pain had, of course, lingered for quite a while after she was released from the disruptor. Then she was thrown unceremoniously into The Box again. She had slept two times before she started being able to ignore the pain. The pain was a memory now, but she was willing to endure it again if it would let her escape.
"Please, apologize for what you did to Mister Oyada. I am lonely miss Gatomon, Viximon was moved to another apartment. Please apologize to spare me." Floramon might have been crying. Her words were stuttering and choked up. Gatomon didn't care about Floramon's loneliness. She did, however, care about Viximon.
"Tell them I'll apologize," Gatomon said, her voice creaking a bit. "Tell them I'll apologize to the one I attacked. Assuming miss Fumiko isn't right next to you."
A throaty laugh followed. "She really is lonely," Fumiko said. "We want her happy. We want you happy."
"You want me to break," Gatomon muttered under her breath.
"Floramon, return to your suite. Prepare a meal for Gatomon. I will fetch Mister Oyada."
Gatomon faintly heard them walking away. Time stopped mattering as soon as the sounds of other people disappeared. Then there was light. Blinding light from the open doorway. "I... I'm sorry for attacking you," Gatomon said, fighting her own impulsive plan to attack again. Her escape didn't lie in an attack right now. "I struggle to control my impulses. I am sorry for failing."
This was what they wanted to hear. This was something they thought they could fix. "You still need your training, pussy. All day tomorrow?" The male voice seemed to be deferring to someone else, but Gatomon couldn't tell who. She didn't hear the answer, but Oyada seemed to have gotten one. "Good. She'll be able to take any dick in the world by the end of tomorrow."
Fumiko dropped Gatomon on the floor of the suite's common area. "After your lesson tomorrow you will be assigned two new junior slaves," Fumiko said firmly. "You will be a good role model or we will stop using the box in favor of harsher punishments."
Gatomon nodded weakly. "I'll be good," she said, her eyes still struggling with how bright the lights were. "Please, how long?"
"20 days," Fumiko said. "If you do not behave now, The Box will never work. Master has authorized me to use corporal punishment however I see fit if you are not a good slave." Fumiko paused now and looked around. "Viximon is on the brink of evolution. If you behave, you will be allowed to join her. She considers you her mother."
Of course she did, Gatomon thought. "I will," Gatomon said, closing her eyes. "I need sleep."
"You must let your eyes recover before you sleep," Fumiko said. "I will stay until your visual response returns to a normal range." Of course, Fumiko was a Digimon. She also had some form of healing ability. "Come sit on my lap, Gatomon."
Gatomon looked around the room. Fumiko had moved, silently, from a foot behind her to a sofa near the windows. She was sitting down. Gatomon obeyed. She padded over to Fumiko, relying on her ears to detect the change in air pressure to navigate around obstacles. She hopped up onto the sofa and sat, like a human cat, in Fumiko's lap.
Floramon called out from the kitchen. "I am almost finished with the soup, miss Gatomon. I hope you do not mind that it is vegetable soup."
Gatomon didn't reply, as she felt an energy fill her body as Fumiko began to pet her. The pleasant energy and touch after so long in The Box left her speechless, only able to purr as she felt her tense muscles relax, her ears dropping down, and her eyes acclimatizing to the light. She could see enough now. It was sunset outside, and she was facing the window.
"You have been a horribly naughty slave," Fumiko said. "I do not wish to use my strength to discipline you, but my Master's will is my command. If you ever attack any human or Digimon involved in your training again, you will be struck by my full power. If you behave, you will know pleasure and, eventually, joy."
Gatomon listened and took in the words. So, they were offering positive incentives to be good now. She expected the offer of pleasure and joy was a threat too -- disobedience would be pain and sorrow. For the moment, she would play along.
Floramon brought out the soup. It smelled good, and Gatomon looked to it. It had a perfectly golden broth with sliced vegetables and tofu. She wanted to jump down, take the spoon, and fill her belly. She didn't, because she had just promised herself she would play along with this slave act. She watched, her eyes still recovering, and waited for Fumiko to give her permission. Floramon had a tag on her collar now.
"Good kitty," Fumiko said. "Eat. Once you finish or have your fill, come back to my lap."
Gatomon nodded. "Thank you," she said, and hopped to the floor. The soup was delicious.
Gatomon endured the day of sexual abuse. She was exhausted when Oyada sent her back to her suite. Floramon had prepared a chicken soup. Fumiko fed her tonight, while petting her and helping heal her body. It was unusually relaxing. "Tomorrow the master is reviewing your training," Fumiko said. "I have explained our difficulties, and he wishes to see you for himself."
Gatomon laughed gently. She wasn't going to behave just because the creep who had bought her was around. She was going to behave, but only to avoid being punished so soon after getting out of The Box.
Floramon's tag, as it turned out, said, "Whore." Gatomon refused to demean her fellow Digimon with that name. Fumiko seemed to have no such concern.
"Whore, her meal is done. Clean the kitchen and then you are at leisure until lights out." Fumiko pressed firmly into Gatomon's shoulders, pinning her in place. The bowl was only half empty, and Gatomon was still hungry.
Floramon bowed. "Yes, Miss Fumiko," she said, taking the bowl away to the kitchen. Gatomon struggled only slightly against the pressure, mewling a bit to express her hunger. If she didn't use words, Fumiko didn't punish her for speaking. Not yet, at least.
"Tonight you have a special catch-up lesson," Fumiko said, snapping the fingers of her free hand. "You may learn from me or from Witchmon. Witchmon may be a firmer teacher than myself, but you will not be taking it easy tonight, regardless of your choice. After the lesson, you may eat whatever soup is left."
Gatomon had not been expecting this. She had always just been put into lessons with new, less trained, Digimon slaves after her time in The Box. She had begun to take it for granted that her training could be delayed by taking punishment sessions like that. It seemed now like she was not getting leniency any more.
Witchmon floated into the room, sitting on her broom and looking over Fumiko and Gatomon. She didn't speak. As long as they had been here, Gatomon had only heard sounds from Witchmon -- laughter at her suffering mostly -- was she what the hunters had called feral? No, she had to be able to speak. There was something intensely disturbing about her, though.
In spite of that, Gatomon found that when Fumiko prompted her to speak, she said, "Please let Witchmon train me, miss."
Witchmon laughed. A single deep, throaty laugh. Fumiko nodded. Gatomon swallowed and followed the silent red figure out of the room, her stomach grumbling, but her mind forcing her to remain silent until spoken to. They turned several times in the halls, and stopped in front of a small room, not more than five meters to a wall, and with normal wall height. Witchmon pointed for her to go in.
Gatomon shuddered and considered running. Running might get her whipped or beaten by another Digimon, but she'd been in worse fights. Hesitating too long might get her disciplined by her instructor. She stepped into the room.
She was surprised by the interior. It had a large computer screen on the far wall showing a springtime scene. A low table sat in the middle of the room, and on it were two teapots, and two small cups.
The door closed behind her, and a faint hum rang in her ears. "Sit. What drink you like?"
Witchmon's voice was as deep and throaty as her laughs, but it was smooth. Gatomon looked at the table. Tea. Coffee. Chocolate. "Tea," she answered. "This is not what I expected."
Witchmon's talon-like fingers extended to the table in a flash, grazing Gatomon's fur as she reached for the tea package. "Answer only," Witchmon said. "Wait. Drink. Learn."
Gatomon froze in terror. That had not been an accident. "Yes miss."
Witchmon walked to the table, her fingers withdrawing slowly to her hand. She opened the tea and measured some out, then opened one of the teapots. She picked up a bamboo whisk and mixed the tea, then knelt beside the table, pouring tea into Gatomon's cup. The whole process took a minute, but the grace of her movements transfixed Gatomon.
"Sado," she said, pouring teat into her own cup. "Drink. Learn."
Gatomon lifted the cup carefully. It was part of a hand-made tea set. She sipped the tea silently. Witchmon set down the pot and did the same. A short time passed in silence. Gatomon felt her eyelids grow heavy. She saw Witchmon staring at her. She saw herself staring at her. She felt her eyes close slowly, and then she felt a pain.
Her eyes jolted open, and she saw Witchmon slowly opening hers. "Sado?"
Witchmon nodded, pointing to the other teapot. "Measure. Brew. Serve."
Gatomon stood up, needing the extra height to have any chance of reaching the teapot. She opened the canister the tea was in, and measured some out. How did she know the right amount? She knew she had never done this, but her body reacted as if this were a well established habit. She mixed the tea, using the bamboo whisk. She looked to Witchmon for a moment. The table was too tall and wide for her to serve it as Witchmon had. She walked to Witchmon's side, pouring the tea silently.
She returned and poured her own tea. She just knew that you always serve your guest first, how much to fill the cup, how much tea to mix into the water, and how to mix it properly. She had not known this before. Witchmon tilted her head, and Gatomon set the pot aside and knelt. Witchmon took a sip. Gatomon followed suit.
"Acceptable." Witchmon said, setting the emptied cup down. "My magic lets me teach you from my knowledge. It is painful, but fast. You must practice this knowledge or it will die within you."
So she could speak properly. "Thank you, miss." Gatomon didn't want to upset her. Knowledge transfer was a rare power among organic Digimon, but Machine types did it regularly. "May I ask a question about tonight?"
Witchmon shook her head. No. She rose and began to strip. "Body contact reduces the strain and pain. It allows you to practice immediately. You are to be a full-functions slave, domestic, companion, labor, sex. Whatever your owner desires. I will teach you how to pleasure all body types I know."
Witchmon sat down on a cushion by the table. Her legs were lewdly spread, bent at the knees so her feet rested flat against each other. Her arms sat at her sides. "Sado."
Gatomon rose and served two more cups of tea. They both drank. "Now you are ready," Witchmon said. "You will stand here," she indicated the space between her legs. "We begin with my body type, so you can practice. You are a doll, repeat the images as they come to your mind."
Gatomon took a deep breath and stepped into the lewd circle. She felt energy warping reality around her. She felt Witchmon's hands wrap around her hips. "Now." The searing, pinching pain was brief, followed by an image. She reached up to fondle her instructor's breasts.
Another brief surge, then an image. One hand moved to stroke, to pet, the belly of her instructor.
Hours passed. Gatomon received an intense course of study on humanoid sexuality. Fondling, petting, groping, licking, kissing. Some of the surges left her knowing what males wanted. Knowing what to do, but having no physical conduit for it. Some, later in the night, dealt with beast-type bodies, such as her own. Some were human-world animals.
Her brain was burning and screaming as she practiced licking Witchmon's sexual areas, and a bell chimed. "Stop. Sleep." In this one night, she had grown so accustomed to these short commands that she barely thought about obeying them. She just did.
The last thing she was aware of beyond her mental agony was the gentle feel of Witchmon's arms and hands. Her touch was strangely reassuring.