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Connie doesn’t remember her crime. She must have committed one, else she wouldn’t be in prison. Prisons used to be more active with inmates. They had cells, time to themselves, and sometimes options to help reduce their sentences depending on the crime. Things changed, people got harder on crime and punishment, then they got harder on reforming them the ‘right’ way.

Connie doesn’t remember much and her knowledge comes and goes in the lucid moments. Little moments like that, such as bumping the glass of her pod, let her recall some aspects of her situation. How cold the latex over her skin feels. How warm her bulge became packed tight behind the lock symbol over her crotch. The way her limbs both burned and relaxed from the constant bondage and the electro pulses prevented her muscles from atrophying beyond acceptable measures. She didn’t feel the jolt anymore thanks to some drugs. Her caretakers used to empty the tank to inject her. Now they just let it seep into the liquid.

Her jaw was stuffed with a thick tube that provided her sustenance and her ass was filled with another for extraction. Normally prisoners had additional tubes in their nostrils for breathing, but being a shark she had no issue with air or water, she focused. At least, it used to require focus. It became second nature in the time she spent in the pod. For how long, she wasn’t sure. What she was sure of was that her name was Connie. She didn’t understand why her visor spelled it that way in between swirling sessions.

Connie didn’t mind it all. If she’d done something bad to be punished, then she should be punished. Though a part of her doesn’t see it as a punishment. There's peace in her suspension tank. A relaxation broken by educational videos that sometimes play porn. Often with a shark that looks like her, getting tied and tormented. Her cock strains whenever she sees the criminal get used and abused. From spankings, being a punching bag, sucking dick, eating cunt, tied for hours on end whilst repeating that she, no, it deserves its punishment. Envy caresses her bulge and whispers into her ear how that should be her.

It is her. But the lucid moments don’t last. They used to bring tears. Now they make her grin like she’s high. She sometimes forgets the drugs.

Her cell (Pod? Tube? She doesn’t do labels) beeps. Her visor goes blank to the bright pink lenses. Curious, she tilts her head to look as far down as she can. The water level is dropping. Her weight without suspension reminds her of the collar latched around her throat. It digs into her, choking her as air seeps through her nostrils. For the first second she panics. For the next thirty she grins as much as her feeding gag allows, thrusting the air for something to brush against her null bulge. The strap holding her leash descends her slowly to the floor, letting her take deep breaths of latex tainted air as she crumples to the ground.

“Stand up, prisoner.” The voice is heavy, cold save for a heat of irritation like this was an annoyance for them. Connie’s body strained as she struggled to look up. Standing above her was a badger in a prison guard uniform, with cuffs hanging off his belt. His arms were crossed and his face was grim. She knew him, but not his name. Once she might have, but it’s fuzzy.

Orders are orders. Connie’s bindings make it hard to balance but she forces herself to stand. From her haggard posture she noticed several other people in the room, each dressed in body covering suits with face obscuring hoods. None as tight as hers.

The badger grabbed the nape of her neck to pull her forward, forcing her back to kneel at his feet. Without a word he pulled her gag, hood, and anal tube off. “Her visor, sir.” One of the others protested.

“Look at these eyes and tell me the prisoner needs it.” He twisted Connie to face one of them. She couldn’t see their face behind the tinted glass, nor her reflection. She felt herself smiling from the feeling of the badger’s grip. This was answered with a thick black ballgag shoved behind her teeth that spread her jaw too wide to smile or speak. One of the staff attached hobble chains to her ankles, and tried to follow up with a collar on a rod.

“Are you serious?” The badger shoved the rod aside, “Look at this garbage? The prisoner looks ready to collapse if I let go. There’s no fight left.”

Fight? Connie felt like she knew that word but struggled to picture it. It was more of a fleeting feeling, one that vanished when the badger pulled her to her feet and demanded her to move. To where Connie didn’t know, but the badger guided her from behind, forcing her face to look at the floor. Movement triggered her peripheral vision as they wandered through the complex. Beyond the chrome walls and white floor she noticed others like her, some who flailed in tighter bindings, and others who seemed docile, all predators with fangs and claws that were muzzled or mittened up. They were escorted by people dressed as the badger, or sometimes accompanied by those dressed like the staff in her tube.

Prison. That’s right. This was a prison and they were all criminals being punished. She was a criminal. What was her crime again? The thought vanished with a firm squeeze from the guard as he directed her down the hall. Her cock tried to stiffen in the bulge, earning her nothing but a warm sensation for her failure.

The room they stop in is filled with medical equipment. Scalpels, syringes, restraints, but also a desk covered in paperwork, as if the occupant does two types of work inside. Connie is forced to her knees again. “Ma’am, prisoner evaluation.”

Behind the desk sits a rabbit with glasses that hid her eyes thanks to the glare from the ceiling light. She seems more annoyed by their presence than disturbed, as if she’d been interrupted doing important work on her computer. That annoyance turns to cold interest when she notices Connie.

“Which one is this?” the rabbit asks. The badger offers her a dataslate pad when she rounds her desk. She takes it with indifference, sitting atop her desk crosslegged, with one leg bouncing idly as she reads it. Connie watches the limb move like it was a pendulum.

“C-0-N-13. She’s been in de-education for over a year now, is that why you’ve brought her to me?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The badger nods, standing tall with his arms behind him as though addressing a commanding officer. “The prisoner is part of the expedited program. Management dictates that you’re to evaluate results before we move onto stage two.”

“Results.” The rabbit let the word roll around in her mouth as if taking a bite and unsure whether she liked the taste. “Can’t say I’m a fan of this new process. It’ll reduce staff and for what? A worse product?”

“That remains to be seen, ma’am. May we get the inspection started?”

She sighs as she places the tablet down, “Very well.” She hands him a box of disposable latex gloves. “Remove her gag and open her mouth.”

The thin latex covering his fingers adds an impersonal touch as he removes her gag. He hooks his fingers expertly around her teeth before she has a chance to relax, holding her maw open like fish hooks. A small thought told Connie to fight, but the question why overpowered it. Why fight something that feels so good? His tight grip, the indifference in his eyes, the way the rabbit crouched down and pressed her own latex gloved hand against her tongue, how her thumb pressed the pink muscle to the floor of her mouth and held it there, slowly grinding it. Her saliva mixed with the sudden spit from the rabbit’s maw to her own.

“Promising.” The rabbit waves the badger to let go. Connie holds her jaw open until commanded to close it. This was followed by a slap. Not a hard slap, at least not to Connie, but one that left a soft numbness across her chin. “Hmm…I was expecting more reaction there. The dosage might be too low for her. Get her cock out.”

Her null bulge grew warm with activity. The latex peels back with the click of a button. The room's temperate air fell upon her dick like ice cubes yet it failed to hinder her erection. She shuddered with the feeling. How long had it been since she last felt her cock stand tall? She couldn’t remember. She couldn’t remember the days before her imprisonment. A tear slid down her eye involuntarily as the person she used to be cried inside.

The rabbit steps on Connie’s cock. The softness of her big crocs only emphasized the pressure pushing the shark’s cockhead to the cold floor. She winces, holding her breath with every twist and grind of the rabbit’s foot. “Fuck…” she mutters, short breaths streaming out. “Fuck…fuck…” she smiles, drool seeping from her lips. The badger pulls her head back to shove the gag back inside only to stop when seeing her drunken stupor of lust and arousal, crying out in ecstasy as he yanks her further.

“Not unexpected.” The rabbit grinds her foot, flattening the mushroom cockhead of Connie’s dick into the floor. “The masochism drug therapy seems to have done wonders in addition to her mental rewiring.”

“She’s speaking too much,” says the guard.

“This is only stage one. Stage two would work on discipline.”

“Fuck!” Connie cries out. Her body ripples underneath the latex shell. Her cock twitches underneath the rabbit’s foot, bulging and surging a sudden burst of cum that spurts beyond the limited space allowed, splattering the floor with untold amounts of edged seed. The shark slumps back as though she’d run a mile, body broken but eager for more. Her mouth hangs open, tongue hanging free without care for decency.

The rabbit shoved the sole of her croc against the shark’s mouth. There was no hesitation or fear about those teeth or Connie’s reaction. She knew Connie wouldn’t do anything but lap up the salty goo staining the bottom of her shoes. “What a mess,” she says, directing the badger to force Connie’s face to the floor so she’d lick the cum off the floor.

“Is she to your satisfaction? The guard asks, his arm like stone as it held Connie’s face against the cold floor.

She couldn’t see the rabbit but she heard the hum of someone thinking aloud. “I can’t say I like the process, but the results speak for themselves. I’ll have to talk with management on how we can retain staff instead of letting them go. We wouldn’t want to risk adding more to the unemployment pool.”

“More meat all the same,” the guard says, “Shall I prep her for site two?”

“Yes, yes. Get C-0-N-13 out of my sight and into docking. The next shipment is soon so don’t dally.”

Without care for Connie’s pain the guard lifts her up and directs her back into the hall. Her cock has softened for the latex bulge to reform over it, leaving her denied of any joy save her escort’s strong grip. After a time of walking she hears the sound of engines running and smells more latex. A glance in her peripheral vision reveals more prisoners like her, some entering in tattered street clothes, others leaving in full body suits and cowls that covered their faces save for a barcode and a lock icon. Each had a circle where the mouth should be, an open gag for anyone to enter. By lines they were escorted, each pushed into the back of a truck.

Her sight vanishes behind the same hood. Something long and thick pushed past her lips and down her throat, keeping her mouth wide for whomever wants it. The sounds outside were muffled by thick silicon, but she feels various hands over her body. She was being traded off. She whines into her gag, only for something thick and attached to tubing to be shoved into it. From there her legs were locked into place. Latex clad bodies were pressed against one another in tight bondage. Something slammed behind her. Something moved under her. People moaned around her.

Not people. Prisoners. Prisoners turned into products. .