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The next chapter in teenage Brendon's unusual hell. It's going to be a trilogy.

This one has whipping in it, but nothing insane. Enjoy.

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Brendon lay awake quietly in his cot. He didn't know what time it was, exactly, but the sun had only just begun to light his dark nursery - freakish smiling ducks and cows were starting to become discernable on the walls.

He exhaled softly through his nose. His hard plastic gag had not been removed since he'd come to live in this madhouse - and he could no longer remember how long ago that was, exactly. Two weeks? Three weeks? He knew when it was the weekend because his adoptive wolf "father" didn't go to work. There'd been two weekends so far, Brendon thought, although he found it difficult to remember. Maybe there'd been three.

He lay motionless in the gathering light; in a foetal position - his hands restrained pathetically under his chin like they almost always were. He knew that he didn't have very long before his "mother" awoke, and the insane routine of his new life would begin anew.

First thing in the morning, his "mother" would come through and extract him from the cot. She would change his diaper (Brendon had reluctantly begun to urinate in it whenever he felt the need, as he had no other choice) and then take him through to the kitchen where he'd be bound into an over-sized baby's high chair where he'd spend the next hour or so watching his "parents" go through the routine of making and eating breakfast for themselves, reading the paper etc. His father would usually disappear off to work after this.

Brendon didn't get any real breakfast. He was fed three bottles daily of something resembling warm milk. It came out of a tin in powdered form, and since it was all he ever ate (and he hadn't begun to starve to death) he assumed it was some type of food drink. It tasted warm, rich and sickening. In any case, he was given one of these in the morning. If he was lucky, he'd sometimes get given diluted apple or pear juice on an irregular basis too.

As mentioned above, the accursed hard gag in his jaw hadn't been removed since he'd arrived in this hell. His "mother" didn't need to remove it to feed him. Apparently there was a hole in the front of it which accepted the teat of the bottles he was fed - it acted as a one-way seal. When a bottle was pressed into it, it would open to allow the contents to dribble onto his tongue. When the bottle was removed, the seal would close again. Of course this meant that he was forced to swallow whatever was piped into his mouth by way of a bottle. He couldn't spit it out, even if he wanted to.

The rest of the morning could proceed slightly variably. He'd spend quite a bit of time on the carpeted floor of the sitting room. He had some childish toys to play with, including coloured blocks with numbers on them, several stuffed animals and a few toy cars and trucks. When he'd first been placed here on his second day in the house, he'd got upset at his situation and had essentially thrown a tantrum. He couldn't believe that what was happening to him was real - that he'd been condemned to such an asinine existence. He didn't even know how he was supposed to pick up the toys to play with them, and he'd begun to cry and scream with rage - managing awkwardly to kick some blocks a good distance across the room, although unfortunately nothing was broken.

Eventually he'd calmed down (with the help of a strong zap from his collar), and his "mother" had gone on to gently explain a few things to him.

"Poor baby. All of this must be new to you. I guess you weren't given toys to play with in the orphanage."

She showed him that he was supposed to awkwardly pick the blocks up between his elbows, since his hands were couched against his chest.

"Babies have to have their hands locked until they're older. We can't have them hurting themselves."

She went on to explain a few further points which Brendon had found somewhat bizarre.

"Just like why your little feet have to be hobbled. Imagine if babies could just run around as fast as they liked; they could run straight into traffic on a busy road!"

She tickled the underside of his left foot gently as she said this. Brendon ignored her. He was still sobbing quietly - beginning to accept that the place he found himself in was real. Perhaps he was in hell. Perhaps he'd died, and God was punishing him like this. Brendon had been an atheist for many years, but this sort of thing can encourage one to change their mind.

Anyway, he'd play with his toys for a few hours to humour his mother. One of the chief reasons he made sure to look amused was because his play session on the carpet would invariably be followed by a session in that demonic incubator. If he stopped playing, or started to look bored, his mother would often cut short the play session, which meant a longer incubator session.

The incubator was something that his mother did not explain to him. He was put into that thing twice daily - in the morning and the afternoon - for about two hours each session. He had no idea why. He'd be strapped down, the temperature would rise to almost unbearable levels, and he'd jerk and moan as that horrible thing in his ass (which had been there nearly as constantly as his gag) began to pulse and throb against his prostate.

After a short time, his bum-plug would also begin to administer mild electric shocks at irregular intervals. They cut through the normal pulsing like lightning, and would always cause him to gasp and jerk upwards with surprise. They weren't nearly as strong as the shock which was occasionally administered into his neck by his collar as punishment, but they were nevertheless unpleasant.

During these sessions, he'd orgasm into his diaper every so often. The orgasms would become less and less discernible as time progressed, and eventually they were just part of a general painful twitching. The inside of his diaper would be sopping wet with cum by the time his session was finally over.

This sexual torture was, as mentioned, accompanied by a ludicrously high temperature. It was stiflingly hot. The hottest Brendon could ever remember being. Anthro's don't have sweat glands in their skin, of course, and so there was no way for his body to cool itself down. He couldn't even pant, thanks to that damn gag in his mouth.

After two hours, he'd emerge from the incubator utterly drained and exhausted. His mother would give him a bottle of diluted pear or apple juice, and then his hands and feet would be bound again as they always were when he wasn't in the incubator. He hadn't tried to resist and escape in the few seconds of freedom had when he went in and out of the incubator - he knew his mother just had to press a button and he'd be tazered into painful paralysis by his collar.

After the incubator session, he'd get to enjoy a second unpleasant and bizarre daily routine. His rectum plug would be awkwardly removed after being deflated by a turn of the key, and he'd be allowed to relieve his bowels.

He supposed he should be thankful he wasn't expected to do it into his diaper. Of course, a baby cannot be expected to do its business on the toilet like a grownup, and so he'd been introduced to another device to facilitate the expulsion of solid bodily waste... It was a chair, of sorts, in the bathroom which he was restrained into, much like his high-chair in the kitchen. However, this chair was fixed in place and attached to the plumbing, much like the toilet. It differed with the toilet dramatically, however, in that it boasted a solid pipe, or nozzle, of hard plastic, which (after being lubricated) travelled up through the anus of the unfortunate "baby" sitting on the chair, and into his rectum. The accursed thing would then pump unreasonable quantities of cold water into its victims' colon, and then proceed to painfully suck everything out and away into the sewers. The process was repeated several times.

It wasn't as bad as the incubator, but the sensation of one's gut being violently pumped full of cold water, and then just as violently drained was not something that Brendon relished. Although he had to admit that the entire process was clean.

After his rectum-plug had been replaced, he'd be given a fresh diaper and allowed to nap for an hour or two in his cot. He seldom actually slept in this time, but he enjoyed the peace and solitude.

After his nap, the entire process would usually repeat itself identically in the afternoon, beginning with lunch, a play session, another incubator session and then another bowel-cleaning. His father would usually arrive home from work around this time.

His daily routine would become unpredictable when his father arrived. There were three possibilities - his father might be tired or busy with work, in which case Brendon would be left to play on the carpet. Alternatively, his father might feel like going out for a walk with his son, and Brendon would be led outside with the pole-leash for a walk around the block and through a nearby park. They sometimes met people on these walks who would comment on how cute Brendon was. Once they'd met a couple with a "baby" of their own - a tiger. The male tiger - about Brendon's age - had been crawling around happily in a sandpit on his elbows and knees; being bound and gagged exactly the same way as Brendon. Brendon had by now stopped being surprised at how society seemed to accept this bizarre state of affairs as normal. He guessed he was stuck in hell, or the Twilight Zone, or something. Worrying about it didn't do him any good regardless.

The third possible evening activity - and the one Brendon dreaded - was when his father decided to exercise him. This happened about every third night or so, and apparently his parents considered it a necessary chore in the raising of their "son".

When he was to be "exercised", he was taken to the backyard of the house where a contraption had been installed to aid in the activity. It consisted of a short, thick wooden stump driven into the ground. The top part of this stump was plastic, and rotated like a wheel. Attached to this wheel, at right-angles to the stump, was a much thinner and longer plastic pole. It attached to the stump at one end, and extended out about two metres.

For "exercise", the loose end of this pole attached to the back of Brendon's collar in the same place his pole-leash normally attached. He was expected to run in circles around the wooden stump as fast as his hobbled feet would allow. (Which was not very fast, but was surprisingly exhausting to do for any length of time.)

As with anything in the house where Brendon currently lived, there had to be a bizarre aspect to the whole affair. (As if staking a supposed "baby" to a stump and having him run around it for exercise wasn't bizarre enough.) The way his father - it was always the father - motivated him to run as fast as his hobbles allowed, was to use a whip. He was expected to run (well... quickly shuffle) around the pole for well over an hour, and his "father" would whip his naked back and legs with a small, but vicious, black single-tail about four feet long.

"Come on Brendon, a bit faster for daddy," and the single tail would leave a quick, searing welt on Brendon's flank.

"No slowing down now, we've got half an hour to go," and Brendon would feel a burned bite on his thigh.

The whip was something that was not explained to him, and it seemed pretty damn strange to whip a little "baby" who couldn't even eat solid food. It was never used as punishment, as such - he was only ever shocked with his collar if he displeased his parents somehow. The whip was only used when he was "exercised". It was like these people didn't see anything wrong with using it as normal part of their "baby's" healthy lifestyle. It would often leave welts, which Brendon felt as he lay awake in his cot, or squirming in his incubator.

Brendon was not an exemplar of physical conditioning, to put it mildly, and more than an hour running uselessly around a pole left him sucking air through his nostrils and cursing the stitch which would develop just under his ribs and throb there like an angry infection. All the while, his father would be cooing to him while raining down hot licks with the whip on his shoulders, back and thighs. Brendon was usually crying dumbly by the time he was finished at the stump. It didn't help that there was a huge, hard thing jammed into his ass. The butt-plug would remind him of its presence with every shuffling step, and his insides would feel decidedly bruised after an hour.

Anyway, regardless of the evening's activity, he would subsequently be stripped of his diaper and bathed by one of his parents in the bathtub. They would gently sponge his body with soap and shampoo in a bizarre mockery of what he'd just been through if it had been an "exercise" evening. Brendon just sat and let them do what they will with him. He knew that any obstinacy on his part just meant a re-familiarization with the tazer in his collar.

His night's diaper firmly fitted over his butt-plug, he'd be given his third and final bottle of the day and would be locked in his cot to sleep while his "parents" watched TV, fucked, and did whatever parents did in the evening.

This routine had been followed almost religiously for as long as he'd been in the house, with minor variations on the weekend - often more painful exercise, since his father was around more.

However, lying in the gathering light, he couldn't know that this particular morning was going to be very different.

"Good morning, sunshine!"

His mother had entered the room, and quickly opened the curtains to bathe it in bright light. Brendon groaned softly in response to her exuberance.

"Are you excited, Brendon?"

She was leaning down to look into Brendon's face, which evidently looked confused, as she laughed to herself. Why would he be excited?

"Surprise! Today is going to be your first day of school!"

Oh god. Brendon didn't like this at all. There's a lot to be said for people getting used to a routine, even if it isn't a pleasant one. They know what to expect from it. What horrors could he expect at "school"?

His diaper was changed, as usual, and he was given a bottle in the kitchen. His father disappeared off to work, but not before wishing his son an exciting first day at school.

"Okay honey, we'd better get going too. The bus is going to arrive soon."

His mother detached him from the high chair.

"Of course, you have to be dressed smartly at school. You're a big boy now. That means we have to tie your little paws behind your back."

So his paws were detached from his collar and cuffed behind his back with what appeared to be police handcuffs. However, his mother also installed black plastic orbs over his hands which prevented him from moving his fingers out of a closed fist, and made his hands feel hot and clammy. Why he had to be restrained differently for school, he had no idea. Strangely, though, it felt refreshing to have his arms in a different place, and he took the opportunity to stretch them out behind him.

He was led to the bus-stop at the corner of his street by his mother with the pole-leash. When they arrived, the waited together with two other mothers and their own oversized "offspring" - a tiger (which may have been the same one he'd met in the park previously) and a green lizard. The tiger was staring into space blankly and the lizard was trying to stamp on ants moving on the pavement. Both appeared to be young adults, or in their late teens, like Brendon. What really disturbed Brendon was that the mothers of the two "babies" were the same race as their offspring. The ramifications of a possible biological link left Brendon feeling a bit uneasy. Were adoptions the only way of acquiring "children" in this world, or were they an exception? He didn't permit himself to think about it any longer.

His mother made arbitrary conversation with the other two "adults" on scene. They talked about how cute each other's babies were, and how "good" their children were. Brendon's adoptive mother boasted that he slept very well - didn't cry at all in the night.

The bus that eventually arrived was the stereotypical yellow school variety. It ground to a halt in front of the corner and its pneumatic doors hissed open to admit its latest victims.

The first unusual thing about the bus was that its doors opened to reveal a huge bear dressed in a security guard's uniform smiling down at the group gathered on the corner. Of course, the hobbled babies couldn't ascend the steep stairs into the bus by themselves, and so they needed this guy to help them up. Brendon's mother detached the pole-leash and kissed her adoptive child goodbye as he was hoisted into the bus.

The second, decidedly more unusual, thing Brendon noticed was that the passengers of the bus were, of course, all bound, gagged and naked but for their diapers. They were all male, as well, and all roughly Brendon's age. They were, of course, largely mute due to their plastic gags, but soft groaning and grunting sounds permeated the cramped bus. Some of Brendon's fellow school students looked at him as he boarded, but most stared out the windows, or into space. Some were crying and snivelling softly into their gags.

The bear led Brendon to his "seat". The bus did not have the nice fake leather seats of most busses, but only small, hard plastic ones. These seats also didn't have a real back - just a bare metal pole support extending upwards - as if the real back of the seat had been removed. Brendon was manhandled into one of these seats next to a window, with his cuffed hands going behind the pole. The bear then closed a latch on the back of the pole around Brendon's handcuff chain - shackling the feline in place in his uncomfortable, hard seat. There was a chain hanging horizontally in the air just above Brendon's right shoulder through a ring on the side of the collar in front of Brendon, presumably to a similar ring on the one sitting behind him. The bear attached this chain to a similar ring on the side of Brendon's collar. The tiger and lizard were also moved into the bus by the bear and shackled into the seats next to Brendon. They had their own chains linking them to the babies sitting in front of them and behind them.

The bus journey seemed to take a long time. Brendon had to urinate into his diaper - the warm liquid cooling unpleasantly against his private parts as the bus bumped along the road. They stopped several more times to pick up more passengers, who were all summarily shackled into their seats and chained. At one point, the tiger sitting next to Brendon began to cry softly to himself - his head also sank slowly to his right, onto Brendon's bare shoulder. There wasn't a great deal the handcuffed feline could do about it, so he tolerated its presence. He kept quiet himself. The notion of school did scare him a bit, but at least he'd be away from that damn incubator at home.

Eventually the bus pulled over in front of what was evidently Brendon's new school. "Brixton Elementary" was inscribed with brass letters over the glass entrance. An American flag fluttered gently on a pole a short distance away (so he was still in the right country, apparently. Hard to believe as that was...) The school looked like any other fairly modern elementary school anywhere else in the United States. He had never heard of "Brixton", though.

The big security bear stood up and pressed a button which opened the bus's pneumatic doors. Then he pushed another button, and this one caused all the latches holding the first row of students' cuffs in place to detach with a series of loud clicks.

"First row, stand up."

The babies complied awkwardly - all of them gradually rising to their feet. A second security guard (he looked like a German shepherd) stepped onto the bus and - apparently taking hold of the end of the leash - led the entire row of baby students off the bus and out the door towards the school.

This process was repeated for each of five rows in the bus. Brendon's was the last. He stood up when the others did, and walked with them off the bus. He saw no sense in disobeying. These security guards may not be able to administer shocks through his collar, but he noted that each of them carried dangerous looking crop-like whips with two short, dangling tails each.

Brendon's line of students followed the others off the bus. The strong bear security guard helped to lift each of them down onto the ground outside, so they wouldn't trip with their hobbles. The chained line of students then shuffled quickly along a concrete path towards the school building - led in front by a large husky security guard. Brendon struggled a bit to keep pace, as the wolf baby in front of him, and whoever was behind him, were both taller than he was, and so he had to run along half on tip-toes to avoid tripping up. The situation was worse for a raccoon a few places in front of him who was much shorter than his peers, and ultimately did trip - stumbling to his knees and causing the chain linking them all to jerk sharply against the other babies - causing some to grunt in surprise. At this interruption, the husky leading the line stopped and yanked the raccoon back to his feet. Without comment, he also lashed the raccoon three times quickly across his exposed belly with the short, black whip double-tail whip he was carrying. The raccoon began to cry, but he did not trip again.

They were led into the school, which appeared much like any normal school, but for the fact that no students walked the halls, and there were no lockers against the walls. They were led into an empty classroom.

The classroom was much like a normal classroom would be, except there were no desks, and the chairs were identical to the uncomfortable seats they had been shackled to on the bus. The security guard wasted no time in detaching his charges from the chain one-by-one and restraining them in their seats. Brendon noted that there were computer screens installed on rails which extended down from the ceiling - one above each desk. He couldn't imagine what they were for. Otherwise, the classroom appeared normal, complete with teacher's desk, American flag and whiteboard.

It was shortly after they'd all been shackled in to their seats - approximately twenty of them - that their teacher entered the room and dismissed the security guards.

"Hello children!"

She was a jackal. Middle-aged. Grinning perpetually with an unsettling exuberance. She entered the room stage-right and proceeded immediately to the whiteboard.

"My name is Mrs. Holden! And aren't you all the cutest, most eager little faces I've ever seen! I bet you're all so excited to be here on your first day of school!"

She had written her name on the whiteboard with felt marker, and now turned to face her class. Brendon - who was seated near the middle, two rows back - noted that she was carrying a black whip identical to those carried by the security guards. A very short crop-like thing with two, short tails emerging from its head.

"There's only one rule in my class, and that's academic excellence!"

Brendon supposed the students couldn't very well whisper to each other or pass notes, so rules against that would be moot.

"I will make two promises to all of you. By the end of this year, your little tummies will be covered in stripes from my whip, but your little heads will be full of knowledge!"

She giggled and smiled as she said this.

"We will have tests every day, and for every answer you get wrong, I will add a stripe to your tummy."

She giggled girlishly and grinned like a doll.

"This will motivate you to learn, and you'll be the cleverest little babies! Your parents will be so proud of you! Now. The first thing we're going to do is have a little unprepared test, so that I can see how much each of you already knows, and how much I'm going to use my little whip here today! But first, you need your styluses!"

The demonic teacher opened her desk drawer and produced a box of black, stick-like things. She proceeded to walk around the classroom, placing a stick into the hole in each student's gag which normally accepted a bottle-teat. The stick would click firmly into place. Apparently this was how they were going to answer questions, being bound and gagged as they were.

She returned to her desk and pressed a button which lowered the computer screens above each desk so that they were situated centimetres in front of the student's faces - obscuring their view of the mad woman, and anything else, for that matter.

"Your tests will come up onto those screens in a moment. Mark the correct answer by tapping it with the stylus in your little mouths. Then I'll be able to see how much you know, and we can stripe the first tummies of the year! You have two hours to answer the whole test."

The white screen blinked to life in front of Brendon's face, displaying the first question of the test.

"The capital of Zhejiang province in China is:

A. Xinhau

B. Hainan

C. Hangzhou

D. Harbin"

What?! How the hell were babies supposed to know this? How they hell was anyone supposed to know this? Brendon tapped an answer with the stylus in his mouth - hoping to high heaven that it might be the right one. The next question popped up immediately, giving no indication of whether he'd got the last one right or wrong.

"What is the cube root of 16974593?

A. 234

B. 178

C. 199

D. 257"

There were a hundred questions in all. Brendon gave answers for all of them, but there were very few he had answered with anything more than a blind guess. He felt panic rise in his chest as Mrs. Holden announced the test to be over. She pressed a button, and the screens rose to reveal her to the class once more. The results of the tests were also displayed on the screens above their respective students.

"Okay, now comes the fun part!"

She proceeded down each row of students, reading their score - out of a hundred - to the class, and then gleefully thrashing them across the exposed front of their torso once for every answer they'd got wrong. She did it with feeling, and the poor student would jerk and moan as she did. What disturbed Brendon greatly was the fact that no student seemed to have much less than 90 out of 100! Even for those impossible questions?! Many of the students started to cry after even a few lashes from the teacher's whip across their bellies. What on Earth would she do when she got to him?!

She did, eventually, make her way to him and glance up at the computer screen above his head. For the first time that day, her peculiar grin was replaced with a frown. Brendon began to shake with nerves. Mrs. Holden bent down to whisper in his ear.

"I'm going to give you twenty lashes now, because I'm a kind old woman. But you know you deserve much worse. You'll be seeing me in detention tomorrow afternoon."

She then stood up and began to cut him across his belly and chest. It was worse than he'd thought it would be - worse than the single-tail he was exercised with at home. His exposed chest and belly were on fire by ten lashes, and he was crying and jerking violently by the time all twenty were done. His torso was criss-crossed with fine, burning welts. She left him with a glance over her shoulder as if to imply that she'd done him an immense favour, and then proceeded to flog the rest of her class - none of whom needed more than ten to fifteen lashes.

The rest of the day at school proceeded less violently, with Mrs. Holden going on to give a lesson about history - the discovery of America by Christopher Columbus. She babied the discussion down so drastically that it was impossible to believe that it would ever help the students with one of their impossible tests; if that day's unprepared one was anything to go by. Brendon was only listening with half an ear anyway - he was preoccupied with the criss-cross burning on his chest and belly, and with what would be done to him in detention the next day with Mrs. Holden. Tears ran down his face from the pain, from fear and from the humiliation of it.

Eventually school finished at twelve noon, and the students were chained up again by security guards to board the bus home. Before leaving, however, Mrs. Holden stopped Brendon and tied a letter she had written around his neck with a piece of string. She gave him a forbidding look before allowing the security guard to escort him to the bus. What horror awaited baby Brendon in detention with her the next day?

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