Transsexual Sex Slaves

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With a blank expression, she wept. The cock had a pulse. That pulse echoed from the hips to the shaft to the mushroom head and into her ass. She was a newborn dick girl, and she felt the soft, hard skin of her partner’s cock dig into her cum-moist boypussy. Her tunnel was fully lubricated by sweat and foreign jizz. The erect arousal probing her stomach reached uncomfortably deep. Her upper body was bent to the banquet table, her breasts pressed against table cloth. Her anus took thrust after thrust, and she didn’t put the slightest fight. She drooled on the table through her teeth, bearing the penetration stoically, her powdered face unwavering, her messed-up hair in her face.

The man in the woman’s body was Jurojin. However, this name was officially dead. The skin of the woman she wore was called Jugs now, and this party was her debut. The name “Jugs” was chosen by the masters for irony’s sake, since her breasts were only an apathetic B-cup. So little fat they had, they barely jiggled during sex. Everything else about her body was fully female, except her penis. The hormones she’d been fed had reshaped her physique. Her hips were wide, like she’d given birth to a horde of children. Her miniskirt had a cock-sized hole on the backside, one made with a meat knife moments ago. Her fully shaved, naked legs were spread wide apart, their fat flapping. Only a pair of high heeled shoes covered her trembling lower half.

She had resisted the transformation much longer than her peers. She had spat and cursed at her trainers, abstained from masturbating, refused her meals. Her face under the thick makeup bore scars from whipping. Her butt cheeks were the same; the throbbing, cross-shaped red lines running across her fat were deep like miniature canyons. Her freshest, still blue bruises in her back were hidden under the maid uniform. Right before this party, the masters had whipped her until she bled. Her wounds were barely closed, but several rolls of bandages prevented the redness from soiling her dress.

Jugs was not an ordinary dick girl. Her physique was sculpted to fit the abnormal fantasies of the mansion’s masters: The entrance into her testicles was similar to a birth canal. The fleshy tunnel led into his flesh bags and it produced, during moments of sexual arousal, a natural lubricant much like a vagina would. The sperm that was dumped inside her dripped through a thin layer of flesh into her bulging balls. Her erect penis was wrapped inside a skin-colored condom. Its mushroom tip swam in a fish bowl of semen not of his own: It had all been processed through his system. The man in him screamed in horror, but his female side was fainting from bliss. Weak sighs slipped from her painted lips as her partner kept burying mighty rod in her ass.

Her partner was not a maid like Jugs was. This boy was of a lower rank, a “toilet”. The poor bastard had spent the entire evening rubbing his genetically modified dick to the floor vacuuming pools of excretions. Despite servants staging sexual performances in the form of orgies and bukkake all over the big hall, the floor shined beylikbagim.com spot clean. Tens of “toilets” constantly crawled on all-fours in the giant room, cleaning off cum spills. Their sperm sacks had grown by the hour, and many boys were now so large that it was painful to even look at them. Some boys had balls so monstrously huge they weighed too much for them to stand up. The naturally wrinkled skin of their testicles was stretched so thin they actually looked close to bursting. Such was the type of partner that was raping Jugs in her ass. They fucked like animals at the lush banquet table brimming with all manner of meaty foods. A whole roasted boar with vegetable-filling oozing from its sliced gut stared at Jugs with its gouged-open eye sockets. The boar was the largest dead animal on the buffet table and well-dressed men and women kept cutting pieces of it to their plates. The anal rape taking place got little attention from guests.

Her partner in the rape was not familiar to Jugs. The mansion was home to hundreds of maids that often raced down hallways completing chores. Few of them had left an impression on Jugs. This boy in his ass, in his current state, was that much harder to recognize, with his face covered in a layer of spunk. The sperm on his face dripped on Jugs’ naked buttocks. Only minutes earlier she had watched this boy be gang raped by other servants. One of the mansion’s mistresses had ordered them to stage a bukkake show. The issue arose when this obstinate fool, who was chosen via a dice roll, had resisted. He had fallen on his knees and complained about stomach problems, said that he couldn’t swallow any more. As punishment, instead of being put through bukkake, the mistress had ordered the boy’s peers to rape him.

The little toilet’s plump manly balls flapped against Jugs’ ass, adding to the sloppy cacophony. His cock was hard and throbbing, although every minute of sex seemed to sap more of his strength. The boy coughed out jizz balls from his mouth, as semen leaked from his ass and oozed from his penis. The rape of Jugs was a continuation of his punishment. The boy was exhausted in body and soul from the recent carnal violation. His rape had been watched by everyone in the room, and the resulting shame was apparent in his demeanor: His back was hunched and there were tears mixed in the droplets of cum falling from his face. Sex after such cruelty was humiliating for him – and more than likely, traumatizing. Jugs could already foresee his fate, and it would not surprise her when this nameless boy became a nameless corpse.

Jugs hated the feeling of a cock sliding in and out of her ass, but not because it felt bad. She had no ownership over her sexual desires anymore. The seemingly endless days of training in the mansion’s cellar had conditioned her body. She had been forced through unimaginable sexual tortures. The sessions had happened the same hour of every day. The body and brain adjust to such routines. Jugs’ addiction to rape was partly linked to the hormones the masters fed her. They messed with the brain, helped her develop fetishes that they wanted. Her training had been exceptionally brutal, and it had increased her tolerance for both pain and humiliation. As a result, she never screamed, whereas other transformed boys were howling their lungs out in every corner of the ball room.

“How is this pet so quiet?” a woman’s voice suddenly asked.

Jugs blinked, turning her face to the side. Whichever woman had uttered the question, she could not guess. An entire group of ladies in one-piece dresses had formed a circle around her. Suddenly a slim arm in a silk glove caressed her back. The prickly pain shot like a lightning bolt up Jugs’ spine, making him wince and whimper. Her skin was so painfully sensitive that even gentle touches filled the maid’s mind with throbbing agony. In her broken state of mind, even this pain amplified the unwanted pleasures.

The toilet boy blew his load with force. Jugs had writhed in her thirst for this cum for so long. Receiving the semen enema excited her beyond the point of return. She squeezed her butt around the cock, locking it in. Her urethra opened, and the boy’s cum flushed through her, yet it was but a blip in the small ocean. Jugs closed her eyes and sighed, reveling in the orgasm, fireflies lighting the darkness inside her eyelids. When she raised them again, a crowd buzzing around her. Bearded men in tuxedos, more than ten of them: They were old, balding, reeking of expensive wine, their smelly dicks standing outside their pants. In moments, they shoved the toilet boy off with their massive stomachs, then ramming their cocks in both of the maid’s pussies. Many were premature ejaculators, and some took mere seconds before finishing their business. The men took turns dumping their cum inside the maid, but there were women as well. Jugs recognized some faces from movies, others from professional sports. Many of the women were well-known politicians and celebrities from Mars, but many more were unfamiliar, and Jugs assumed them to be powerful people from Earth. These supposed high-class ladies raised their skirts, revealing their hairy snatches – none wore panties. They stuffed their unshaven cunts in Jugs’ mouth, some urinating shamelessly inside. The girls giggled as their piss trickled off of the maid’s lips.

The gang rape took many, many minutes. During those rare seconds that there was no-one invading her mouth, Jugs glanced around in the ball room. Toilet boys were dragging their naked bodies against the floor on all-fours, vacuuming white trails with their penises. Their throbbing, melon-sized, jizz-filled balls were the most disgusting sight Jugs knew. There was no dignity in the life of a toilet. All the cum they drained from the floor would never ever receive a pleasurable release. The masters spent no money to clothe or feed these sorry excuses for human beings. Before the night would be done, the boys would be locked in dog pens outside the mansion. They would be given plastic straws to stick in their urethras – that would be their dinner. It was impossible for toilets to excrete what they drained via ejaculation: Their penises were specially modified to be incapable of letting out cock juice. Only a straw inserted deep into the hose worked to drain their balls.

Being a toilet was almost no better that being cattle. The only real difference was that cattle drank cum continuously until they choked to death, whereas toilets could live for several years. While the toilets could theoretically have lived to be old, their daily mistreatment and violent rapes always broke them eventually. Suicide was a common escape for many of these unfortunate boys, even as the masters made every effort to drug them with happy pills. Truly, serving in this mansion was the ultimate test of one’s will to live.

Jugs wanted to keep on living. Despite the rapes, despite the evils she suffered every day, she still desperately wanted to live. However, she feared – with good reason – that there was no happy end for her in sight. The hope of escape was the sole thing keeping her alive. Would it fade one coming day, like it did for everybody else? She pondered this question while munching on yet another sloppy, plentiful load. This man’s jizz had a foul taste, but unless she’d eat it quickly, the next cock to enter her mouth-pussy could make her choke.

Cello music suddenly sprang from the center of the room. With an excited tune, the classical orchestra signaled that the night’s main event was nearing.

“Gather the maids for the auction. Get them cleaned up backstage,” a female voice said from nearby.

Most of the debuting servants had already been raped and sprayed with cum. Still, none would avoid the whore auction. In their condition, Jugs couldn’t imagine who would pay for sex with her and her colleagues. Even after everything she had been through, she still underestimated the depravity of the nobles. She didn’t realize it, but her will to live, her very fighting spirit, it sprang from an innate optimism. This naivety was why she had resisted her new urges for so long. When other maids came to drag his body to be prepared for the auction, she instinctively fought back. Her elbows swung wildly, even breaking a nose. One of the mansion’s mistresses saw the commotion and gave an order, which Jugs failed to hear.

While the maids held her in place, two small hands wrapped around Jugs’ massively full condom. The hands peeled the rubber off, leaving the limp penis drooling. She was forced on her knees, left only with the freedom to flip her head from side to side. The cum-faced rapist toilet boy stepped in front of Jugs. He was holding the big condom, bringing it closer to the powerless maid.

“You bitches! You bitches! This is rape! Rape! You’ll all be guilty! And you’re doing it for nothing!” Jugs screamed – none argued.

The nameless toilet boy brought the condom to her face. He stretched the elastic material in his hands, making it large enough to envelop a whole human head. The cum-filled condom engulfed Jugs’ face, half of its contents drenching her tits. She shivered – the cream had grown cold and viscous.

“Oh no, not the sperm! Not the sperm! Ah, it’s in my eyes! My eyes! Gurgle!” the poor maid screamed before billions of dead sperm streamed down her open throat.

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