Security Breach
By Musuko

Carefully-worded codes and clever cyphers keep the mystery of CKC alive amongst a select few outsiders, kept clear from the inner knowledge of those who peruse the pervy catalogue with ease and impunity, able to snatch only the occasional furtive glimpse of the monolith entity that hides out there amongst us.
	I lean back in my chair. Veering most verbose, I conclude, and hold the backspace button a while. I swivel around a little, thinking. My words form themselves together in a nebulous haze, and I return to the keyboard with a clearer expression to cement.
	We know enough about CKC to know that it is. It exists. It serves the wealthy and the elite in powerful secrecy. It serves their perverted needs. It serves them with radically-advanced technology that should be in the public domain, that should be serving the common good. CKC should come into the light, or be forced to do so.
	I look over at my other screen. The egg timer continues to spin, and the window behind it remains empty but for the word “pending…”
	Enough for tonight. Time for bed.

musukomassiel-privatelog-010913-01.doc

Fuck sake. It’s a Sunday, and this is happening again. Security needs a complete staff refresh if they’ve let another script kiddy get a wriggling worming peek into our systems again!
	Down in the tech suite now, keeping my glare on everyone, making sure they’re ramped up on coffee and energy drink, doing whatever it is they do on their computers to track this person down.
	I glance over at the Special Operations Vault, and help myself to a little smile. Another for the collection.

I woke at about six in the morning, but not for my own planning. The sun through the thin curtains made its own plans for me. I stirred, bleary and lazy, and hauled my zombified form over to my computer.
	And got a little bit of a shock.
	“Holy shit,” I breathed.
	I’d only tried to trawl the murky depths of the internet to scoop up what references to CKC I could find that had survived the rumoured universal expungement that CKC orchestrated. I’d never expected to stumble upon the beast itself.
	I focussed on breathing. This is incredible. No, wait. This is bad!
	The raw folder organisation lay in front of me. My eyes scanned over their titles. Research Division Quarterlies. Amp-Line Division Quarterlies. Market Band Skew Program. Insertables Zeitgeist Investigation Review Report. Test Subject Welfare Annual Report. And on it went. Page after page to scroll through.
	This is evidence. Proof incontrovertible that CKC existed. And that no doubt flagged me up on some vast and powerful security system as a threat. The men in black would be at my door before long! The panic surged inside my chest. This is it. I’m in a movie. And what does the hunted hero do now?
	He...or rather, I...download as much as I can onto a thumb drive, staring all the while at the window, expecting engines and squealing brakes to interrupt the lazy sunday morning.
	I yank the drive from the computer, throw on my coat and shoes, scramble down the stairs, open my front door, and get sprayed in the face by a liquid that smells of cabbages.
	And then I roll backwards. The ceiling spins down in front of me. There’s a cobweb in the corner I really should dust. And why is the papple burgle numble wee?
	Arms catch me.

musukomassiel-privatelog-010913-02.doc

So, I’m told we have him. A young wolf named Jayy. And yes, I checked the printout twice. Jayy. With two “y”s. I know my own name isn’t exactly kosher, but I mean really!
	Twenty-two years old, unemployed, intelligence that outweighs his wisdom, talents squandered on activities that continually fail to put any money into his bank account. Pretty standard really.
	“Is he cute?” I ask of Keven, my delicious doberman, my suite-guard cum “PA” (alright, deputy PA. Linda wouldn’t allow it any other way) cum sexbuddy number one. Also, winner of company HQ sexiest uniform model award July 2013. I may have swayed the vote a little on that one.
	“Pretty cute,” he says, with a little smile that tells me his words are an understatement.
	“I see.” I glance at the Special Operations Vault, and Keven follows my gaze. “Candidate?”
	“Oh yes.”
	“Great! Bring him in. Think I should do the scary voice thing?”
	“No, sir.” He gives me a stern look. “I won’t spank you if you do.”
	“Aw.”

I whimper into the ballgag and try not to think about the shackles on my wrists and ankles, or the way they’re holding me to what feels like a shiny metal chair. It’s a little odd; like someone had sculpted a bucket seat out of chrome. It’s cold! I shiver, and I definitely fail to not think about it.
	I try to turn my head and rub against my shoulder to dislodge the blindfold from my eyes. I feel something bump there, thick and heavy and plastic, but it doesn’t dislodge. Feels like I’ve got a VR helmet on my face.
	My breath catches. Finally, my brain has caught up with itself and registered something I’ve been aware of since awareness returned. Actually, two things.
	I’m naked.
	Nearly naked...there is something on my cock.
	A squeal dies a feeble death in my throat, and I flex my whole body as much as it can move, feeling the limits of the restraints. Wrists, ankles, and also thighs and upper arms, and chest and tummy. I can’t move. I’m restrained in metal, against metal. And I’m undoubtedly in the clutches of CKC.
	My struggling fingers tap against something beneath them. It feels for all the world like the keys of a computer keyboard. What’s going on?
	I clench my eyes shut under the blindfold thing and try not to sob.

musukomassiel-privatelog-010913-03.doc

I stay as quiet as I can, wrapped up in a nice thick coat, stolen from Keven (his nipples stand out nicely through his uniform’s shirt), to brace against the air-conditioned coolness of the Special Operations Vault, a necessity to keep so much hardware whirring away at peak efficiency (or so I’m told).
	The occupants of the Special Operations Vault, numbering sixteen now we have our newest edition, are not exactly capable of complaining about it.
	“Can he hear me?” I whisper to Keven.
	Keven nods.
	“And see me?”
	“Not yet, sir. Whenever you’re ready.”
	“Alright, I’m ready.”
	The naked wolf in front of me jolts his head upright and looks directly at me. It’s a little disconcerting, but the techs assure me that he can see me through the virtual reality visor, via a camera attached to the top, when it’s turned on at least. And that’s exactly what’s just happened.
	His fur bristles. Lovely ice-blue fur. I quite like it. Pity I can’t see his cock. It’s sealed away inside a metal tube, itself attached via a pipe and wiring to the chair he’s strapped into. It’s quite a nice sight, though. Like something out of Giger’s dreams, were he to be influenced by modern consumer electronics. A melding of flesh and brushed-aluminium and black glass technology. Jayy’s head turns a little to the left, looking at Keven. Then, to the right, and his attention lingers on one of the other fifteen similarly-restrained occupants of the room. I know without turning to look that he’s looking at Anna, a petite doormouse we picked up some years ago, strapped into a chair just like Jayy’s. I let him have some time to process the view, to let him compare what he sees with what he feels attached to his body.
	A small whimper passes the gag, and I’m satisfied that the realisation has concluded.
	“Hello, Jayy,” I say, bringing his attention back to myself. “I’m sure you’re smart enough to realise where you are, in a general sense at least. My name is Musuko Massiel. I am the owner of Clever Kitty Creations, or CKC as you no-doubt know it. I am the clever kitty himself.”
	I walk closer, and he presses the back of his head into the chair. I place my paw on his knee and give it a squeeze, my smiling muzzle now close to his.
	“And this is your job interview. Try not to be nervous!”

Job interview?!
	That’s what CKC stands for? That’s ridiculous?
	This daft-looking tabby is the owner?
	What the hell is that girl strapped into?
	And this thing on my face? It’s live, not some video; I feel his paw on my knee at the same time as I’m seeing it. Why make me watch through a camera and headset? Why not just take it off so I can see? Why put it on in the first place?
	My thoughts spin around and around, and finally back to their starting place: job interview?!
	“Around you are fifteen other contenders for the role,” he continues, a smooth, elegant flow to his speech that somehow flatly fails to make him appear suave and in charge. He looks like an idiot! He keeps smiling! And he looks like a little kid wearing that big coat. Oh jeez, it belongs to the dog behind him. Now he looks more like he should be in charge.
	“These fifteen others have been here for varying lengths of time, so some of them have had a lot more practice than you. But don’t let that dishearten you. They’re still here for a reason; because none of them have got the job yet. There’s only one position going, I’m afraid, and sixteen of you trying for it.”
	I make a confused noise through the gag, and the goofy cat smiles wider. I see his paw move, and feel a tapping against the contraption attached to my cock.
	“I’m sorry, I’ll explain it a little more simply. Whenever all sixteen seats are full in here, we have a little competition, and the winner gets to go free. Well...more free than being in here, anyway. Everyone’s very excited. Are you excited? I hope you’re excited. Anyway, the winner goes free. And the remaining fifteen stay in here until we pick up another to fill the empty seat and have another competition.”
	He looks over his shoulder, at the girl I can see strapped up in the machine opposite me. The smile he wears when he looks back makes me shiver more than from just the cold.
	“She’s been here the longest, poor girl. Just coming up to five years now. Just sixteen when we got her, bless her socks. She’s talented, but never enough when it comes to the crunch.” He leans closer, and I turn my head away when his breath tickles my cheek fur. I hear him whisper. “Truthfully, I think she fails on purpose because she likes it in here. Let’s hope you’re not the same, eh? I’d love to see what you look like under that mask. Under this…” I feel a tug at the thing on my cock, and I fail to stifle another whimper.
	“Alright then,” he says, back to speaking volume, letting go of me and stepping away back into the room. I see the girl lift her head. I turn my head to its fullest extent either side of me, and just make out the edges of neighbouring machines. The way Musuko moves, turning in a slow circle, tells me he’s addressing a room full of occupants just like me.
	“Everyone ready?”
	I make a confused noise into the gag. Ready for what? How can I be ready? This is insane! Let me go!
	Of course, none of this is discernable in the “Mmmmph!” noise I make. Musuko and the dog ignore me. And the screen in front of my eyes goes black.

musukomassiel-privatelog-010913-04.doc

“Can we rig it so he wins?”
	“That really would be unfair, sir.”
	“I know. But can we?”
	“Of course, sir. You can do whatever you wish.”
	“You’re giving me that look again, Keven.”
	“What look, sir?”
	“That look that says you’re saying one thing out here on the job, and will say something different tonight when you’ve got me tied up.”
	“Ah, that look. Yes sir. I’ve got that look.”
	“Eep. Okay. Just tell me the tied up opinion now. Should I rig it so that he wins?”
	“No sir. You should let the results play out. It’ll be better for you and the company in the long run.”
	“I suppose you’re right.”
	“I suppose you’re right, what?”
	“Erf. Not out here.”
	“Not out here, what?”
	“Mrrf. Not out here...sir.”
	“Good kitty.”

Green text lit up in the blackness before my eyes.

Exercise 1:

Write a shell script that, given a person’s uid, tells you how many times that person has logged on.

What? This is a programming exercise? I turn my head, and the text stays static, hovering in front of my nose.
	The keys!
	I flex my fingers, pressing the keys beneath them. Text appears.

sgaspgsdewkiksd

Right! I can do this. I start to type, putting together something I could do in my sleep…

Task completed by subject 6.

Exercise 2 shall begin in 30 seconds.

I was only halfway through. Does that mean…
	The jolt hits me, and my body seizes up. I scream into the gag and try to wrench my legs together, forgetting the restraints that most certainly haven’t forgotten me. Spots dance in front of my eyes, and I slam the back of my head against the metal behind me.
	“Mmmph!”
	Around me I hear similar noises, a chorus of distress from multiple voices. The pain fades, and my voice drains to a whimper, as do those around me.
	Something just shocked my cock!

musukomassiel-privatelog-010913-05.doc

“It’s always fun to watch when they get the first shock, isn’t it?”
	“Yes sir.”
	Keven doesn’t really seem all that interested. That suits me fine. His attention seems more on the shoulder massage he’s giving me, and I can feel his “eagerness” pressing into the small of my back. He makes a nice chair, does Keven. Big strong thighs as a seat, nice muscular chest as a backrest. A good place to sit whilst I watch the applicants writhe in their chairs and moan into their gags.
	“Who won that first round? It’s hard to tell. Their reactions all look the same.”
	“Julian, number six.”
	I turn to look. A svelte young otter who fancied himself a bit of a hacker six months ago. He trembled in his seat, drooling through his gag, making moans not dissimilar to those made by his tortured companions.
	“Must feel nice to feel a machine sucking your cock after going without for so many months.”
	“I wouldn’t know, sir.”
	“No, me neither.” I tilt my head back to look up at the underside of Keven’s powerful muzzle. “Might be fun to try some time.”
	“You might end up regretting that comment, sir.”
	Oh I do hope so.

This continued as it started; an exercise would flash up on the screen, harder and more complex than the last. I would frantically type, hoping, praying. And then another would beat me to completion, and I would sit and squirm in dread, awaiting the pain, tears in my eyes at the helpless frustration at being unable to escape it.
	But this time I am going to succeed. Exercise eighteen. Formulate a search algorithm to meet specific requirements. My fingers flew. I could do this.

Task completed by subject 16.

Exercise 19 shall begin in 30 seconds.

Was that me? Please tell me that’s me! I’d completed my script. Unless someone beat me by a millisecond, it was me.
	I jolt against my restraints, but for an altogether different reason this time. It feels like someone’s mouth has just slid down my shaft and slurped tight right around the base. And oh god, it feels like a tongue. Hot and wet and ever so eager. I lie my head back and shudder out a moan. My fingers claw at the keys.

nkmadsoiandfvmrfavm,ac,s,dofqwef\dmai

It feels so good! Please continue forever! I forget my predicament. I don’t care about being knocked out and kidnapped and strapped into some torture chair by an insane cat and his criminal organisation. All I care about is the blowjob, and the swelling, growing surge towards orgasm that…
	...stops dead.
	Exercise nineteen starts.
	I howl into the gag. And wolves really can howl loudly. I creak the metal restraints and bang my head against the chair.
	I read the exercise. Another one that I can excel at. I type.

musukomassiel-privatelog-010913-06.doc

After a poor start, the newcomer seems to have found his first wind. It’s amazing what motivation a little carrot can be after so much stick.
	I sit with Keven, watching them all tap away at more and more complicated exercises. I stopped being able to understand them at exercise three, so I just marvel at them like a layman would in the presence of any expert. I do notice a change in some of them, though; they’re slower, they’re less successful, their moans of frustration are occurring during the exercise as well as during the punishment and reward that comes after. And through it, Jayy’s score is climbing towards the lead position.
	“Looks like the complex stuff is his thing. He might actually turn out to be a useful asset.”
	“I couldn’t say, sir. He’ll look good in the tech uniform, though.”
	“Oh yes.”

I can feel my drool running down my chin. I can’t lift my head. I’m in a zombified fog of arousal, and it would be quite nice if I could see an end to it. The text keeps flashing up in front of me, and I suck on the ballgag and blur my fingertips over the clacking keys, blazing through the tasks with a speed I would never have thought within my abilities. The amazing motivation of having your cock sucked to the edge of orgasm, over and over.

Exercise 100 (final exercise):

This is it! Please let me cum. Please let me cum. I read the instructions, understanding them at a subconscious level. My upper tier thought processes are just chanting the one word over and over. Cum cum cum cum…
	My finger descends for the final keystroke.

Task completed by subject 2.

“Mmmph!”
	I howl into the gag and struggle pointlessly against the restraints. I know it’s coming. I count the seconds, waiting for the agony to hit my throbbing, drooling cock. I choke back a sob. I sink my teeth into the ballgag.
	The light dazzles me for a moment. The text is gone, and I can see the room again. The cat is there, grinning at me. The girl across from me is trembling in her chair, and I gradually become aware of the moans all around me...moans of pleasure. Why are they all getting rewarded while my cock gets nothing?
	“Congratulations, Jayy,” says the cat. Behind him, the big dog grins. “You won. Are you pleased? Nod your head if you’re pleased.”
	I growl instead. It sounds less menacing than I hoped, muffled by the gag.
	“Aww, you’re not pleased? Because of this maybe?” He reaches down and I feel him grip the tube on my cock. I hover on the edge of orgasm within it, and I ignore my anger in the fleeting hope that he’ll jostle the contraption enough to tip me over the edge. “I know it seems unfair that the losers are all getting to blow their loads right now.”
	He pauses, glancing over his shoulder at the girl. “Or...whatever it is that females blow. But don’t worry. The wait will be worth it. Welcome to the company, Jayy!”
	He lets go, and I whine into the gag, trying to nod my head towards my cock, pleading, needing orgasm more than I need my dignity. I watch his paw reach up to something behind my head.
	“Night night for now. See you soon!”
	He moves something under my nose. A little spray bottle. I smell cabbages again.

musukomassiel-privatelog-010913-07.doc

I must admit, the sight before me is appealing. But…
	“Keven. This seems rather counterintuitive. Wouldn’t he work better with his arms free?”
	“This is standard for all probationary staff, sir. Until their loyalty check comes back clean.”
	“Really?” I look up at Keven, at the vast expanse of his mighty chest, at his beefy arms, at his altogether all-round hunky hunkiness. “Even you?”
	“I was never probationary, sir.”
	“That’s a shame. I’d have liked to have seen that. Still, I suppose we don’t have any jackets the right size to fit you. So, how’s he meant to type with his arms bound like that?”
	“Well…”

This is beyond humiliation. This is insane.
	I woke up like before, not quite aware of the point of actually waking up. Just...existing again after a while spent not existing. I noticed first that the visor wasn’t on my face any more. But I wished it was.
	I see cage bars, all around, far too close for comfort. In front of me I can make out a bare concrete wall a few metres beyond the bars, lit by dim light coming from somewhere above. I’d never felt claustrophobic before. I think I’m feeling it now. My feet, bare I notice, are pressed against one end, and I can feel the bars of the other end pressing into my back.
	Wait, not just my back. My paws too. My paws are behind my back. But my arms aren’t. My arms are in front and my paws are behind. I wrestle with the confusion for a moment, then look down.
	A very, very tight canvas straitjacket, in cream, with brown leather straps and gleaming chromed buckles, and some very sturdy-looking padlocks. I inhale sharply, and feel the tight grip of its collar around my throat. And the straps between my legs, pressing into my inner thighs. And…
	I groan. No ballgag. Good. But between my legs, something hateful and evil and altogether too normal in its own way for my current situation. A perfectly ordinary, off the shelf, every day run of the mill bought from the net and shipped in a discreet brown box...chastity device. Chromed. Heavy. Tight. Ring locked behind my balls, cruel unforgiving metal tube enclosing my cock. And something is keeping me half-hard inside it. I pray that they’ve drugged me. I don’t want to face the conclusion that some wicked, uncontrolled part of my psychology is enjoying this.
	I bang a heel against the cage. “Hello?”
	“Shush!”
	The voice startles me, coming from my left, from the darkness beyond my cage bars. Slowly, my eyes adjust. I see the vague shape of someone sat behind the bars, and the pose is instantly familiar. He’s sat like me. There’s another cage next to me, with another prisoner.
	I look to my right and see the same. Another prisoner. A little bigger, squashed up in his cage, kneeling with his head tilted back, right up at the ceiling. His face seems faintly lit in a blueish glow. A fellow canine, I think. It’s hard to tell.
	“What’s going on?”
	“Be quiet!” a voice hisses, from somewhere further away than my neighbours.
	I try not to whimper. This is worse than the chairs. At least that had insanity I could recognise. This is…
	...I see it then; a miniscule glow above my head. There’s a flat screen set in the ceiling of my cage with three tiny words in red.

Press to begin.

I shuffle in the awkward tightness of the cell, trying to get a better look at the screen, looking around its edges. I bang my head against the bars and hiss.
	“Just press it and get on with your work,” comes a whisper from my left. “Before you get us in trouble.”
	My confusion is absolute. I cling to the one hint of certainty offered to me, and wriggle my head into place beneath the screen and smush the words with my nose.
	Nothing happens. I try again.
	“Use your tongue,” comes the whisper.
	Seriously? I feel like crying. I twist myself into an uncomfortable kneeling position, my arms a useless dead weight around my waist, and crane my head back, open my mouth wide, extend my tongue, and slobber its tip against the screen.

Task begin. Scan and correct errors between lines 10039 and 12260. A number of dummy errors have been introduced in addition to any live errors. Please ensure all are corrected. Points value for satisfactory completion: 10.

The code reels across the screen above me. A small touchscreen keyboard lights up across the lower half of the screen. A cursor blinks, waiting.
	I have to debug code...with my tongue?!
	I maintain my position, kneeling with my head back, nose hovering just below the screen. It’s so...degrading. I jab with my tongue, experimenting, and insert a “p” in the middle of a variable. I hunt for the backspace and slurp the screen again, clearing it.
	Two thousand lines of code like this. It’ll take forever.
	Points? Ten points? What does that mean?
	I ask the more helpful voice to my left. He doesn’t seem to be working right now. Maybe that’s why he’s so helpful.
	“Earn enough points and they’ll release you.”
	A light at the end of the tunnel.
	“How many points?”
	“A thousand.”

musukomassiel-privatelog-020913-01.doc

Me and my big mouth.
	I wonder what it feels like to be in the cage, I said. Blah blah blah. I’m an absolute idiot. Of course Keven said he could show me. Of course I got all excited and took him up on the offer.
	So there I end up, straitjacketed and chastised and sitting in the cage next to Jayy, squirming about and trying not to get too aroused, and only half-regretting letting Keven have so much playful control over me. I suppose there was an upside. I did get to watch Jayy discover his new duties. I just wish I had my paws and my cock free to properly enjoy it!
	An hour or so passes, while Jayy whimpers and growls in various alternating patterns, sometimes licking at the screen to work, other times ignoring it while he laments his fate, sometimes kicking at the bars and earning the hissed rebukes of the other prisoners who know what punishment awaits those who get rowdy.
	And then I spot it, finally. On the screen above me.

Lick me, kitty cat. ;)

Oh dear. I wrestle myself into position, kneeling beneath the screen, head tilted back tongue lapping up at the words. Neck already aching. Cock throbbing. So damn degrading.

Task begin. Write the words “I am a subby slutty little kitty bitch and I deserve this” 100 times. Points value for satisfactory completion: 1000, and Keven will fuck you silly.

Took me three fucking hours! Bastard!

The days pass. I lose track of them. My mind feels like it is withering away. I know only the cage and the screen and the constant aching throb in my locked up cock.
	Sometimes it’s debugging. Sometimes it’s scripting. And sometimes it’s lines.

Task begin. Write “CKC is a wonderful employer and I am honoured to be working for them” 500 times. Points value for satisfactory completion: 10.

I know what they’re doing. I could resist. But that means sitting in this cell forever. Only one thing tells me when a day has passed; the smell of cabbage, then the blank time of nothingness before I wake up in the cell again, smelling of soap, the cell smelling of bleach, everything cleaned, my stomach feeling full, my body feeling refreshed. I learned early that there’s no point holding my bladder, or anything else. The farmyard, feral smells around me taught me that towards the end of the first day. Just concentrate on your work, let it fall when it needs to. It’ll get cleaned up when the knockout time comes.
	The screen tells me my points between each task. Up to 880. How long has it been?

Task begin. Write a 2,000 word essay explaining why CKC is a crucial part of the operation of modern society, and why it should continue to exist and prosper. Points value for satisfactory completion: 10.

My cock has been drooling precum daily now. It’s a constant flow. I’ve never been so horny. I’ve long since stopped squirming in the straitjacket. Its embrace has me completely and inescapably. It’s a part of me now. It’s a good thing. The screen made me say so. Five hundred times. It’s good that I can’t use my arms. It’s good that I can’t use my arms…

Task begin. List the name of every product in the CKC catalogue, their version number, their year of first availability, and their price. Points value for satisfactory completion: 10.

This is easy. I know it off by heart. The screen has told me, so many times. All the facts. All the things I need to know. Over and over, endless repetition. My thoughts drain away. All I think of is CKC. The work. My cock. The aches and pains. My dry mouth. The thirst. The smell.

And the cabbage smell comes, and I sigh. Momentary peace.

Light and wakefulness again. I immediately shift into my kneeling position before conscious thought even gets off its starter motor. I lick the screen without reading it. I don’t need to. Always those same three words.

Purchase one orgasm for 100 points: yes? no?

I stare at the screen, dumb. Unable to think. It is so far outside the limits of my current mental landscape that the words don’t register their meaning. I stare at them each in turn. Purchase. The blur passes, I focus on the next. One.
	And slowly, glacially slowly, the dawning light of understanding blossoms, and my breath catches. Orgasm!
	I feel it between my legs then. Not the chastity, forever part of me. But the device from the metal chair so long ago in my distant, hazy memories. The tube and the wires snake away out through the bars and into the concrete corridor.
	I look to my sides. The empty cell to my left. The canine on my right, working at his screen, ignoring the world around.
	One orgasm for one hundred points. The shattered remains of my reason try to pull themselves together, try to put together a cogent argument towards the various merits of yes or no. But through their confusion and disorder, a clearer voice screams; the voice rising deep from my gut, from my instinct, from my need...from my cock.
	FUCK YES!
	I jab my tongue against the screen, then sink back into sitting position,legs splayed, my gaze down on the tube on my cock.
	And I feel it. The phantom mouth. Slick lube and undulating rubber, slurping at my cock with an intensity I’ve never known. I throw my head back and I howl; I howl in victory. In triumph! I’m a raging beast of lust and hunger, and my cock is going to explode in the fire of pleasure that I so badly need and deserve!
	And only one small voice in the back of my mind strains to whisper its opinion as my cock swells and my cockhead tingles and I feel the hot surge of cum rush up my shaft and explode from the tip with a heat of satisfaction and release that radiates from my toes to my nose; this cost you 100 points.
	I pant in the sticky heat of my sweat and bliss. No matter. I’ll earn it back. I’ll work hard for my employer. I’ll earn my points. It was worth it.
	My cock is numb. Spent. Just nestled in the embrace of the tube. Gently drooling the last dribbles of my cum.

Task begin. Write “I want to continue serving CKC for the rest of my life” 1,000 times. Points value for satisfactory completion: 5.

I only dimly recognise the drastically reduced value of my efforts. The full force of the realisation comes hours later, when the pleasure has faded to nothing, and the cold misery of my imprisonment settles in once more.

musukomassiel-privatelog-251213-01.doc

Linda pointed it out in the evening report for me. I still had my party hat on, and an awful lot of alcohol inside me. Some other things inside me too, but nothing some time spent in intimate contact with the shower wouldn’t clean up. Linda herself was a little worse for wear, and Keven was off somewhere partying with the guys and would make an appearance later. One of Sweet’s sentry automatons had taken over guard duty for the day, and I was too sozzled and happy to be freaked out by it.
	“So…” I giggled, and tried again. “So we give them the choice once a year?”
	“Yeah!” Linda sprawled back in the leather chair and put her feet up on my desk, kicking away her shoes. She blew on her party horn. Peeeep!
	“And we make them pay for it in points.” I tried to keep myself from bursting into more giggles. Linda’s grinning face was too much of a tease to my composure. “And...and then...and then…”
	“And theeeeeen…”
	I bite my thumb to choke back the laughter. “And then...if they say yes...the points become even harder to earn!”
	“And the price for orgasm goes up the next year!”
	I lay my head on the desk and laugh for a while. Then I have a little more wine. Then I lie back in my chair and hug my stomach, sighing away the tail end of the giggles that turned my cheeks into a paradise of aching.
	“I’m starting to think that we’re evil. Are we evil?”
	Linda pretended to think about it for a while. Then she said “I try not to think about it, sir.”
	“Atta girl! So…” I craned over the report and tried to focus on names. “The new one...Jayy...chose yes.”
	“Yup!”
	“Shame. I’d have liked to see him. Out of probation. Working properly. Wearing the sexy techy suit.”
	Linda’s eyes twinkled. “You could see him again sooner, if you like.”
	I held up a finger. It blurred into two. “Ooooh no. No no, I’m not falling for that again.”
	Linda kept grinning.
	“Well,” I said, eventually. “Maybe.” And then grinned back. And held up my finger again. “But you have to do it too!”
	“Deal!”
	“Shit, really?”
	“Yes sir. Not going to back out now are you?”
	I burst into giggles.
	And then Keven came back.
	With friends.
	Happy times!

In my dream, I’m free. I’m free of the cage. I can walk. I can see trees. The wind touches my face. I can feel the air stroke through the fabric of my straitjacket. I can feel it tickling the fur of my balls, feel it cool the metal of my chastity. I spin and dance, my bare pads in the grass. And around me, the security of the walls. The compound of my family, my CKC. I love them, and they love me. I am home.
	A ripple teases through the dream. A gentle unfolding of the sky. Just a subtle shift; it’s there, but it’s not. I still see it, but I know it’s not real. And then a voice. Gentle. Melodic. Faintly heard.
	“Loyalty check clean.”
	The ripple spreads. The walls fade. The loving warmth fades. The long fall towards reality begins, and my memories rise back up; this happens every day. The lost awareness during the knockout. This happens in my head. The simulation. The test. Always failed. Always back to the cage. But not this time. The words are different. The fall is slower. It’s different. It’s...kinder.
	“Probationary period concluded.”
	I close my eyes, but still I see. The falling, slowly-spinning slide down towards reality. I cling to the comfort of my straitjacket, of the security of my chastity.
	“Welcome to the company, Jayy.”