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Fallen Fates of Rebels Lost

Part One of Three

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

Commissioned by Adagiodajiang

A continuation of Broken to Slavery.

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This story contains non-consensual sexual acts and slavery in fiction for fantasy purposes only.

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Jules knew that it was the end for him, as much as he didn't want it to be. Their leader, Hika, had been captured and transformed into nothing more than a domestic horse, a beast of burden for all to laugh at and amuse themselves with. Greyin… He flinched. Greyin was gone. His companion. He'd always been around him, the two of them pairing up together whenever they had been at headquarters. Maybe it had been because they were both white lions, anthros standing proud, even prouder than humans sometimes, on two legs. Maybe it was because his friends there, his companions, had been picked off one by one.

He didn't know. He could not say. But under the control of the tyrant, he was little more than a slave.

“Get on there!"

A bulldog guard forced his head down, someone who was in some kind of policing. It didn't matter to Jules: he knew that every last one of them was corrupt. It wasn't as if it was going to change anything for him, how he went about things. He clenched his jaw, head hanging as if he was being compliant. Somewhere, deep inside, lingered a glimmer of hope, a tiny hint of feeling that told him that maybe, just maybe, he could escape if only he held onto it.

Jules should never have let that hope grow. Dragged to a laboratory, kept dim with huge, glass cylinders that rose to the ceiling, it could not have been more ominous, more foreboding. He tested his bonds, the metal biting into his wrists, but they held fast, allowing him no wiggle room in the slightest, no leeway in which to take one, last stand. He was just an advisor. He clenched his jaw until it shook, reeling, shaking his head, driven on with a jab from a cattle prod that sent a blast through him, dropping to his knees, crawling. He wasn't cut out for that side of work, not for the rebellion.

But was there any rebellion anymore?

He was shoved into one of the glass cylinders on his hind paws, snarling and showing his teeth, though it was merely a singular last stand of defiance on his part. He could do all that he liked but there was no getting out to be had for him, there for the long haul and trapped in the fate that, in a way, he had orchestrated for himself. It was not a life from which he could escape, running and fleeing with his head bowed down against the rising storm.

The others outside the glass, working in the lab, ignored him. They didn't care for him slamming his shoulder into the glass, screaming and hollering, though most of that was driven by fear, admittedly. Mechanical arms shot down from the, currently, open top of the cylinder, releasing his paws only to bind them back in front of his body with some sort of woven metal, something different than what had been around them before. His ankles were strapped apart with a spreader bar and all of his clothes, well…it seemed that they were not to be needed before.

Gas sprayed, driving him to cough, bending over, though it disintegrated his clothes easily, the cloth falling from his body as if it had never been of any quality substance. Though his nudity in public was not his main concern as his paws were drawn up over his head, stretched and strained, balancing on his hind paws with the spreader between them, leaving everything on show. A metal collar locked around his neck, something sharp penetrating his spinal column, though he would only understand the nerve controlling effects of that later, even if he never caught on entirely to how it monitored his brain wave activity. By the time that became relevant, it was not going to be an issue to his mind and mentality anymore.

A metal harness encased his body, locking him into full bondage, though standing on two paws was beyond him, tipping back with a huff against the cylinder wall. The cold glass pressed up against him as, finally, the mechanical arms forced him into a mask, holding his jaw tightly in place to get his nose into it, securing it into the collar where it locked tight.

For a moment, he could not breathe, but the dildo-shaped breathing tube that shoved into his mouth, at least ensuring that he had a ready air supply. Just how they intended to feed him, however, was another matter entirely, though the gross shape was not pushed so far back into his mouth that it was in his throat. That, at least, was a small relief.

All Jules could do was quiver where he was, wanting to appear strong and defiant but not knowing how to show that. Was fighting the right answer? Or was being strong and silent the correct one? Would that show everyone that he was still there, still fighting back but not…outwardly? It was hard to say but, frankly, none of that mattered anymore. He was stuck there, regardless of anything else, regardless of how he wanted to be, how he had been.

There was more humiliation to come, a mechanical arm grasping his sheath and forcing, somehow, his penis to extend. He did growl at that, helplessly muffling his unrest by the mask, but the tube that slid down his penis had him jolting, gasping, shaking his head.

Fuck…

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But it could not be escaped. He was there and trapped, a tube sliding into his bladder and another thicker one pushing up into his anal passage. They did not care about his privacy or his modesty when he was there for experimentation and, of course, torture for his crimes, though that was not something that Jules had any say in. He tried to push back as a valve opened in the floor of the tube, gushing with an odd, light blue liquid that was mildly translucent, though there was nowhere for him to go as it crept up over his bare hind paws, his ankles, up over his calves, a slow trickle like the fate that was clawing its way upon him. Higher and higher, it soaked his knees, his thighs, cooling his shaft, though that was kept erect – moderately feline and on show, though that was not something that mattered any more either. It was hard to consider anything that had been a part of his life before as important when he was trapped in there.

Thankfully, the breathing tube took care of that pesky little nuisance for him as the slow encroach of the fluid up his body finally reached his head, covering him completely. There was a clear space in the mask through which he could somewhat see out, the space around him blurry and distorted, both from the shape of the glass and the fluid that he was enveloped in.

Down there… There was little to distract him from the pounding of his heart, how he groaned and pushed on, his hips rocking, though something appeared from the sides of the cylinder to hold him in place: as if his restriction needed to be any greater than it currently was. He was locked into an upright position, a toy and a tool placed on show in the glass cylinder, not having any say at all in what was done to him.

Something sucked down around his shaft, where the sounding tube had pressed up inside him, but, strangely, what was inside felt somewhat like it had split. He grunted, pressing his tongue up humiliatingly against the dildo in his mouth, though there was no evading it, something more closing around his waist. Someone on the outside might have well called it a chastity device, though it was one that locked him into furious pleasure, the rod under his tail thickening, reducing his range of motion in the flexion of his hind end with how it stiffened inside him. That was not something that he could have said that he had experienced before as he tried to arch, need rising cruelly, his body responding to something out of his control.

It milked him. If he'd had the strength left to do so, the white lion would have groaned, but even turning his head back and forth came with some difficulty, the collar thick and heavy and stiff around his neck. It restricted his motion even though it was not technically a posture collar, his cock throbbing into the tube, which pulsed around his shaft, milking it ardently. Jules didn't want to cum, didn't want to do anything of the sort, yet the ability to say “no" had already been stripped from him as he squirmed in place, whining softly, though he didn't think any sound came out. He wouldn't hear anything that he believed to be real for the rest of his life, not even if it came from his own lips.

He didn't want it, knowing that their eyes were on him, making his skin crawl, huffing and grunting, the breathing tube getting in the way of his tongue. Yet it was there to stay and the lion could not bring his paws down to even get it out of his way in the slightest, paws stretched up over his head and locked there. He imagined himself like some strange kind of statue on display, maybe even something that had been placed underwater in an aquarium where it would be best suited, but what he did there was not for anyone to see.

His cock ached and throbbed and he tried not to think about the rippling, pulsing pleasure rising there. Maybe they were desperately trying to be cruel in how they abused him, showing him that there could be pleasure first before the true torture locked in? It was hard to say, very hard to say, and all too easy to disassociate from reality as his hips tried to buck. Fear closed around his heart like claustrophobia, however delayed, setting in. He had to get out, had to be free, but he squirmed and thrashed and heaved and barely moved an inch back and forth, he was locked in that tightly. The pulsing ripples were impossible to ignore as much as he strove with all his might to rip away from them, yet the tubes inside had definitely split off, though he dreaded to think of the reasoning behind that.

If they weren't draining urine from him…it could only be one thing.

No, no, no – that could not be his fate. They were not keeping him there as a statue but, like all the rest that had fallen before, making an example out of him. Jules had never paid much attention to the fates of others, not even as an electric shock thrummed through his prostate, the tube under his tail clearly having another use too. It moved slightly, working its way back and forth as if it was loosening him up for something more, Jules shuddering as it teased over his prostate.

But it was not pleasure that he wanted to feel, not even then as he grunted and groaned, arching and striving with all his might to buck his hips. Freedom slipped through his fingers as if it had never existed to begin with, so futile in its presentation and yet a notion that had never seemed to be his. Even in his much earlier years, it had been a dictatorship that he'd been born into and living through that, well… That changed a fur. He was broken and gone beyond all repair already even though he'd tried, learning and striving, strategizing and fighting the whole way.

Advising had not always been his forte, he thought desperately, trying to take his mind to anything, absolutely anything else in the world, as his cock ached and throbbed, pumping for release. He groaned and tried to think back even as he was sure that pre-cum was drooling from his cock, thinking back to a life where things, at least in some small way, had been simpler. He had not had to worry so much, though the state of the country and the world was worrying… He could immerse himself in texts of strategies and diplomacies, giving himself an edge with history to arm him.

Yet none of that was anywhere near good enough to ease the tension from his body, his buttocks clenching as shock after shock was delivered unto his prostate. It was not quite enough of a shock to cause him pain but his body could not help but react to the zap and the jolt, juddering with the ever-present feel of the fluid cradling him. It lifted his fur out from his body lightly, floating, but an orgasm was coming whether he was ready for it or not, grunting and trying to clench his jaw, but the dildo, once again, got in the way.

He climaxed with a strangled roar, trying to hold it back, burning with shame that was only just about contained by the mask over him, though it was hard to say. Even then, Jules was not really present in himself, dissociating too easily and whimpering as he twisted back and forth helplessly. He could at least give himself the impression of motion, even if it was not actually possible, making himself think that he was, indeed, fighting back in some small way, regardless of the impossibility of that. Real was not and back and forth – and he had to find some, small way to bear through it, lest he lose himself.

Were they making notes on him, on his orgasm? His mind had never before been so clear in the peak of climax, though that was probably because he'd been trying with all his might to think of something, anything else, before things had even kicked off. He wanted to feel every last drop of that pleasure and not too, both at the same time. It was a twisted kind of being, perverse in how it presented itself, trying to find a way to make things right, even if there was nothing ever again that could ever make things right in any way at all.

Yet it was there, pleasure tapering off, leaving him feeling confused and strained, not only physically. There was tenseness in his body that could not so easily be ignored, striving, even then, to twist his head back and forth, needing it, needing something… But what? What could that something be? Embarrassment pulled at him, dragging him down, a groan in the back of his throat that no one would hear. Maybe it would be recorded in his changing brain waves, the pulses that showed activity in different hemispheres of his cranium, though that was not something that he would know either.

That was when the pleasure…changed. It was imperceptible at first, everything continuing as normal, yet it was that “normal" sensation, what he knew and understood to come from the tube locked around his cock, that he needed a rest from. He couldn't “go" again so quickly and panted heavily, his tongue furiously pushing at the dildo in his mouth, for it seemed to be the one part of his body at the very least that he had some semblance of control over moving. They forced him, made him thrust and grind, or at least consider it. Jules shuddered and jerked, the pulses and vibrations around his shaft growing, pulling at it as if he was thrusting into a very high-quality fleshlight. He wouldn't know what that would feel like, not really, as that had been a luxury he had not had before in his life, but his mind had to cling onto something, anything, just to try to make some kind of desperate sense of it all.

The vibrations were relentless, giving him a little taste of what was to come through for him in the rest of his life, the rest of his days locked up in there. He moaned, pushing at the dildo in his mouth, the pressure under his tail unbearable. He'd never thought too much about what he liked sexually, swinging both ways, all ways, but the stretch there was unimaginable, too much for him, his tail-star trying to squeeze down around it to the best of its ability. Such muscular contractions were beyond his control in a moment like that as he grunted and whined, a second orgasm drawn from him with surprising swiftness, as much as he wanted to hold back, to rest, to relax.

It didn't feel like an orgasm at that time. There was a strain and a pain tantamount that rose about the pleasure, yet it was not outright pain – not yet. The white lion's body was a toy to be used, his humiliation broadcast to every TV in the tyrant's control, every system taking in his debasement, streaming it live online. Anyone would be able to tune in at any time to see just what had happened to him, why they should never, ever, not even the once, rise against the tyrant who was their king and overlord. It was just one of the many ways in which he kept his control over them.

One orgasm. Two orgasms. It was no matter to him. One followed the other, his tail trying to shoot up, though it was only then that he realised that his tail was tied up to the back of his collar too. With so many other sensations going on at the same time, it was hard to differentiate the close of a metal manacle, something twisted into a ribbon of metal like his other bondage, around the base of his tail. It made sure that he would always leave his pucker on show, his humiliation complete just when he'd thought that it couldn't possibly get any worse. The tip had to be tied off to his collar, though he would not know, he would never know. There would never again be any way for him to see just how his body would shift and change over his many, many years locked up in the chamber, able to breathe, his body sustained, yet never again to be free.

He'd jolted, however, with a shot of electricity directly to his prostate, the plug under his tail thrusting and pumping like a sex-machine. Yet it proved to be something far more insidious than that as it denied him the ability for his cock to soften, not even in the slightest, remaining hard and ready forevermore. They may have hurt, pulsing through him too strongly, demanding muscular contractions and responses that he just wasn't able to give in his bound state, but they made his pre-cum leak and leak, his body responding while it was able to, doing what it could, as strange as it all was.

Jules moaned, twisting, grinding, unaware of how he pulled at his bondage. He was lost and gone, the cylinder and the lack of senses that allowed him a greater feel of the world around him. It was a strange sort of thing, locking his senses down to only what the tyrant wanted him to feel, torturing him, abusing him, milking his seed from him with the electric pulses, demanding that he climax over and over again.

He didn't want to, but he had no choice. He wanted to fight, wanted to scream, wanted to howl and show them that he was so much stronger than that, so much stronger than them. He had fought back, for fuck's sake! He'd done everything that he could, absolutely everything within the range of his ability, but the thrust of the rod under his tail pumped and pumped, forcing another lewd embodiment of pleasure from him, rippling through.

He blinked. Something was different, very different, his world...darker. He wasn't thinking, wasn't seeing, was not even looking. A blindfold? A screen had slid down over the front of the mask, closing off even his blurry view of the cylinder from him, panic curling in his chest. Would he ever see again? Did he even want to see? It had not been much but it had been a lifeline!

And what was that? Not just the pounding of his heart, the roar of his pulse in his ears. White noise, the blistering deafness of it surrounding him. It dulled the tiny sounds of his body that were still privy to him, grunting but not even hearing that. Where was his heartbeat? Was he still alive?

It surrounded him, enveloping his, sensations peaking. Touch and taste were the only things left to him, hearing dulled, sight stolen. Smell... Well, the strange, clinical aroma of the mask would fade in time. That was something that he would come to know, if not see, only in time.

They beat him down, broke him down. There was no way to tell day from night or any time anymore. It was gone, lost to him, broken and bruised. Jules clenched his jaw, digging his teeth vehemently into the dildo, but he was not the first rebel that they had tortured and neither would he be the last. They knew how to break his will, to turn him into a panting test subject, a mindless one eventually. As much as he strove to cling on to hope that he would be rescued – escape did seem impossible by that point – there was something deep within him that knew, really, that there was no hope.

Orgasm after orgasm was milked from him, for there was not enough seed present in his nuts to come forth. A little could be drained from him every day, of course, his body injected so that he produced semen more regularly, yet there was only so far that his body could be pushed, ultimately. There was only so much that could be done but he was there to be tested, to be experimented on, increasing their ability to give those that were still free and “happy" pleasure and, of course, torture the broken rebel force further and further. In a way, his entrapment there was pivotal.

He learned, slowly, just what the limits of his body were. Darkness surrounded him, orgasm after orgasm claiming him. Sometimes Jules doubted that he was ever truly not climaxing, as strange a thought as that was. He had to hold fast but the pleasure came again and again, pushing through him, making him lose his sense of reality.

What even was reality anymore? He didn't know. Was it the pain? Was it the pleasure? Was it the outside world? He doubted his memories, that he had been one of the top advisers, that there had been furs and people counting on him. In his entrapment, it seemed like a bad dream. Maybe it had been something that he'd imagined. Maybe he'd always been mad.

Madness? The lion groaned and thrust, his tail curling within the fluid to the extent that it could, the middle moving while either end was locked in place. What was madness? No, no, he was not mad, not mad at all. He was there, he would be gotten out, it would all stop sometime.

Jules...didn't believe that. He yowled and grunted and even suckled ludicrously on the dildo, saliva drooling and slopping in his mouth, for there was nowhere for it to go but down his throat. Something was periodically pumped down his throat, perhaps marking the feeding times, though it was actually set up automatically on an erratic schedule, further twisting any sense of time that may have reminded in his broken and beaten mind.

Still, he was sustained. He was kept alive. Barely.

They wouldn't let him die so easily.

He had a tiny ounce of movement in his hips. Maybe it was imagined but it was his, a flexing and a tensing of his glutes that allowed him, in some, small way, to roll them forward. He moaned and groaned and grunted, yet they were all sounds that were not for his ears. The pressure on his ears increased, ensuring that all he heard was white noise, bland and mindless – as much so as he was. Jules panted, licking the dildo, some part of him wanting more. It was something to make him think at least, something to make him take things a little differently, but it was not as if it tasted very nice.

Taste. The one, last sense left to him naturally as he was milked and forced to cum. His nuts felt bigger but he didn't know how much of that too was warped in his mind. He licked and tongued at the dildo helplessly, not even knowing what he was doing. They could not see that, could they? They couldn't see him in there, not like that? The mask was sealed, right?

He didn't know, could only do what he could do, the dildo pushing over his tongue, pressing down on the centre, though it ached something fierce. The pain was welcomed, a distraction from torrid pleasure. It was all he could think about as his cock was shocked more and more strongly, pulsing and grinding, a spark and a throb, though the feel of the sensations themselves did not seem to match up either, not as he expected them to. Nothing made sense in there, as much as he tried to put it in some sort of order that he could understand, but it wasn't for him to understand anymore.

The advisor's advisory abilities, finally...were broken.

His tail hole stretched slowly over time, needing a thicker and thicker rod inside. Thankfully for him, for it would have been an even deeper humiliation for him, it funnelled all waste matter away from his backside, ensuring that he was kept there as a lifeless orgasm machine forever. His urine slipped down the tube, funnelled straight from his bladder, but that was not something that he had to think about all that much, which was a blessing, at the very least. One tiny thing to take pain from him, as much as the penetration was another kind of humiliation in itself.

His cock felt tight around the rods in there, but those did not grow larger. They could draw all that they needed from him, regardless of his consent in the matter. And there was no consent, only abuse, time after time again.

It dragged him down into the darkness, the twisting mass of white noise. There was not anything left for him, not anymore. Only more debasement, his hope gone, mindless and gaping, feeling only what they wanted him to feel. His orgasm was continuous, the pressure irrevocable.

Several months later, Jules was unaware. The scientists studied his brain waves in real-time, a straight line present on their screens.

“Still alive..."

But not really. What Jules was doing could not be counted as living in any sense of the word. The line was not totally straight, which would have been true death, but oddly waving only when he thrust his hips, that point of pleasure-pain that broke him down to such a point that he could not think but do. No thoughts crossed his mind even as he ground his shaft desperately into the tube to climax, desperate for it, the only marker of life left to him.

They gathered data, watching the lion day and night. It was important, very important to their cause, everything that he gave them documented and logged, hunted through for patterns. Abuse and torture could go hand in hand with ecstasy and pleasure and it was only those that debated the presence of each that had any issue, really, with the execution of such. It could be used however they liked, coming together perfectly, though some of the scientists did baulk at what he was put through. Despite that, they never questioned it, going about their duties with blinding loyalty.

Still...there was data to be had there. Information from his brainwaves about the rebels, their hideouts, culling it from him along with his personality. It was that very information that would bring the rebels down to their knees, capturing the last dregs of their resistance and bringing them to rights in the law of the tyrant's land.

Jules didn't know what they were doing with his mind. Jules didn't know anything anymore. Just an orgasm machine, broken into mindless lust, he longed only to cum, thrusting and humping, tail twisting, his restrictions limiting him.

The white noise rolled on.

He sucked on the dildo.

The tubes pumped, coaxing his cock and pounding his arse.

Nothing ever changed.