Special Corrections

#Furry #Sounding #Castration #ForcedFem


The intercom buzzes with an order to report to the administrator's office. Your mind starts to race, you couldn't be in trouble again, could you? You've been making quota on the transcriptions that you have been tasked to. Slowly, you push your chair back from the desk. With a deep slow breath, you rise and push the chair back in. No one else in the room, save your 'supervisor', watches you walk quietly exit the room with your head hung low. It's a moderate walk across the complex, through the well-trimmed grass and manicured trees do little to raise your spirits here in the best of times. The dull concrete box that is the administration building looms large over the complex, it's position on the eastern side causes the building's shadow to cast over a good deal of the property training facility, as they call it. You slide your identity card through the reader and the electronic lock disengages. Putting your shoulder against the heavy door, you shove it open and enter the administration building. A pair of hyenas in white uniforms stand guard and watch you silently as you walk to the kiosk in the middle of the room. Another run of your card, and the kiosk directs you to elevator three.

The screen above the elevator announces your destination and the guards' chuckles make your face burn. The hired guards know that no one in the dull gray trainee uniforms see the administrator unless it's for a punishment. Had the guards been property, they might have more empathy for you. You continue to face away from the guards until the doors close behind you. All four sides of the elevator are paneled in smooth reflective metal, with no space for buttons as the kiosk directs everyone to where they are supposed to be. Moments later the doors open with hardly a sound. The administrator's secretary is a middle aged looking ocelot wearing the forest green collar of training facility property. The ocelot's lithe frame wears his black suit well. He doesn't look up from the legal pad he is transcribing, just nods his head toward the card reader on the edge of his desk. “Sit on the couch, you will be called when you are wanted.” You sit down on the upholstered couch and look at the beige walls. The wait is always the worst part. They keep the only clock in the room over the couch, letting you stew in anxiety until the administrator calls for you.

This time, the wait only takes moments. You've never been admitted to her office this fast, and your heart is now about to beat out of your chest. Your card silently opens the door and you walk in and stand before the administrator's desk. A lioness with fur the color of sand, the administrator has run the facility longer than you have been alive. She finishes with the papers in her hands and the lioness looks at you as you stare at your feet. “Do you know why you are here?” Shaking your head, you answer. “No Madam Administrator, I do not.” You shift uneasily from foot to foot as the administrator drills holes in you with her gaze. “Sit.” She commands in a calm voice. This is the first time you've been allowed to sit in her office, no matter how long she has yelled at you. “For reasons that are beyond me, a private conditional offer has been made for you.” You blink in shock. The best you had resigned yourself to was the government purchasing you. Sometimes hard work, but safer than most of the work the corps have property do. A private purchase seemed out of the question with your spotty attention to rules and orders.

You force yourself to ask “What is the condition.” The administrator growls “That isn't important, and the offer doesn't allow you to know the details. You'll assent to a trip to Special Corrections, and then be collected by your owner. With four infractions as an adult, you'd likely face a mandatory trip there anyway. The terms are what they are, agree or you may leave my office; though it would be one of the most foolish mistakes you could possibly make.” “Madam Administrator, I agree to the terms.” The administrator makes the closest thing to a smile you have ever seen from her. “Excellent decision, you'll report immediately to Special Corrections, and then be out of my fur forever.” She waves you away without another word, and pulls her keyboard forward to continue with whatever work she has for the day. Your heart is racing faster now than it was before you spoke to the administrator. What is going to happen? Special Corrections isn't a happy place, and somehow you have avoided being sent so far.

You wait several excruciating seconds for an elevator to return for you. The elevator takes you back to the lobby where you avoid the guards' eyes as you use your card to exit the building. The midday sun shines, casting the administration buildings' long shadow to the far side of the complex. Special Corrections is next door to the administration building, just a single floor unlike the seven of administration. Special Corrections' windows are narrow and filled with security wire, to prevent anyone escaping in a fit of futile desperation. The door slides open automatically. Referrals are sometimes pulled in by security, and the automatic door makes that easier. A wall of guards stands to your left as you walk in. The secretary inside is a tired looking collie, without a collar. Staff in Special Corrections are all free furs, intended to prevent possible coordination between the staff and property being administered some of the more severe corrections. You scan your card into the reader on her desk, and she points at the line of chairs opposite the guards.

The guards relax as you sit, though you are sure they are all watching you intently. While you wait, a tortoise-shell cat slinks in and scans her card. A red light flashes on over the secretary and the two closes guards grab her arms. “Take her to room two.” The guards nod and pull the cat through one of the doors and down the hallway. The rest of the guards advance forward with mechanical precision and you continue to wait. Being here voluntarily at least affords you a little bit of dignity. After what feels like an eternity, the secretary waves you to the desk. “Through the door, third room on the right. Strip and sit in the chair when you enter.” You are too scared and full of adrenaline to acknowledge the instructions, and just walk through the door. The bright white walls and tiled floors reflect the fluorescent lights and make the hallway slightly blinding. All of the doors are unlabeled and shut, with a card reader next to the knob of each door. Your card unlocks the third door on the right, as you were told, and you enter the room.

There is a heavy, metal examination chair, with a padded head restraint and stirrups on the leg-rests, in the middle of the room. A desk and rolling chair sits on the far side, a locked computer sitting on the desk. The door shuts with a thud behind you, and you start to undress. You pull off the gray t-shirt and hang it on a small rack to your left, which holds several hangers and a shut garment bag. Giving in to temptation you unzip the top and peek inside. The skirt you see in the bag causes a well of foreboding in your stomach. Zipping the bag up you kick the simple slide on-shoes off, and you put your socks in them, under your shirt. You fold your underwear inside your pants and hang them on the next hanger. The chair has a thin leather covering, and feels cold as your ass touches the seat. You place your arms on the armrest and leverage your ankles into the stirrups. Metal restraints kick out from the arms, midsection, and legs of the chair, holding you in place. The deeply padded head restraint prevents you from turning your head, and you can see neither the computer nor the door from the chair. You gasp in fright, begin to hyperventilate, and feel your balls retract into your body. Once you realize nothing as actually happened yet, you force your breathing back under control. Some minutes later, you hear the door open, and the click of heels passes behind you before you hear the rolling chair move. A soft voice comes from your right “Mmmm, here voluntarily, on a conditional? Well, we will get you ready and out of here just as soon as we can.” The chair rotates until you are facing the speaker.

An attractive anteater fills your view, obviously a doctor. She wears an open lab coat, showing off a functional button-up that form fits around her heavy bust. Sensible black slacks hang off her hips, and looking at her you can't help but start to feel an erection grow. “Just relax, dear I can have you dressed and out of here within a few minutes. This can be pleasurable, if you let it and I would like you to someday look fondly of our little visit together.” Her voice is soothing, she clearly wants this to go well for you. She reaches under the chair and lowers you into a halfway reclined position, your legs sticking out and your view restricted to the ceiling. “Before we begin I need to make sure you are healthy enough. It would be a shame if we started, and you just keeled over, wouldn't it?” She adds with a slight laugh “Worse ways to go though.” A shockingly cold stethoscope is pushed over your heart with hand, white the doctor fills out a chart with her other. “Deep breaths now, that's good.” She places a hand between your legs and fishes around for your balls. “And cough.” She scribbles away for several more seconds. “Well I have good news, you are fine shape.”

She walks to the desk and places your chart on it before picking up an object. It's a slender round black metal collar, and she threads it around your neck before closing the collar around your neck. “The collar may become warm, as the ends fuse together. If it burns you, I have ointment.” The metal does indeed start to heat, but you can shift your neck just enough to hold the hottest spot away from your skin. She inspects the fusion spot, and confirms that it didn't burn you. The doctor returns to her chair and pushes a button on the side of the chair. The chair legs move on a pivot, spreading open and the doctor slides in between your legs. One of her hands gently holds your member. It grows in her hand as she pumps her fingers up and down the length of it. You can feel your cheeks burn as your part grows firm in her hand. She drags her other hand along your inner thigh, her claws ever so gingerly touching your skin. Her tongue snakes out of her mouth, and wraps around the head of your part. You can feel yourself grow to full erection, and your head gently passes her lips. Her hand that was working your shaft pushes on your other leg, spreading you slightly farther open.

She slowly bobs her head up and down on your member, letting you feel all the muscles in her long snout clench and release. One of her hands gently cups your scrotum, and the warmth relaxes your balls slightly into her palm. Her other hand begins to rub the patch of flesh directly between your legs. A soft moan escapes your lips as she touches all of your pleasure spots in ways you've never felt before. She continues to pump her head as the hand between your legs presses and rubs, somehow it feels like your member is harder than it's ever been. She plunges her snout to the base of your member, and her tongue wraps a coil around the head and slowly coils it down to the base of your shaft. She ripples waves of tightness up and down the length of your shaft. The entire coil of her tongue slowly pulls up, coaxing a bit of your natural lubricant out of your head. “Mmmm” the anteater emotes softly as she tastes your fluid. The tip of her tongue teases as the tip of your head, before it starts to snake down inside of you.

You bite your lip, the feeling of the anteater sounding you during the oral inspection of your member sending unexpected shock-waves of pleasure through your body. Her thumb presses more firmly between your legs, moving in a slow up and down motion. She pulls her head back up your shaft, and slowly pushes back down while firmly pursing her lips. Each movement threatens to push you over the edge, yet none have so far. The sensations are overwhelming to you, and you can't do anything other than pant softly in ecstasy. Finally, she pushes her snout deeply against your pelvis and squeezes her oral muscles tightly around your member. Her thumb starts downward stroking between your legs in slow soft motions. Waves of pleasure emanate from deep within your body and the doctor brings you to within the edge of release. Your eyes roll back in your head, and your body shudders involuntarily. This orgasm feels different than the ones you have given yourself, it feels like your entire load is slowly working the way through your body all at once instead of rising in the sticky little ropes you are used to.

The doctor slowly pulls her lips along behind your load, and pulls away from your stiff member. Another button press and your legs shut, and the chair moves back to the upright position. The anteater has a sly grin on her mouth now, as she rolls over to what looks like a trash can. You see a small bio-hazard symbol and a picture of fire. She presses a foot pedal and the lid flips over, a haze of heat flowing gently from the open medical waste chute. She slowly lets the tip of her tongue come out of her snout, and you see what her tongue was doing inside of you. Your balls hang from her tongue, tied together with a neat little bow by their own cords. The adrenaline and shock fight for control and you can only watch her. The doctor leans over, and pulls the bow undone and your balls drop down to the incinerator. While you still process what just happened, the doctor picks up a small injection gun and pokes you side of your hip with it. A cold rush hits your body, and the adrenaline and shock both fall quiet to a sense of serenity. After she pulls the injector away, she slaps the injection site.

“That little prick was a slow release hormone cocktail.” She gently squeezes your left breast. “In six months your owner will bring you back and we can discuss what size she wants for you.” She presses another button and the restraints pull back. Before you can even rub your wrists, she pulls you up by the arm. “Now, go open the hanging bag and put your new clothes on; your owner was watching the procedure over the CCTV and will be here soon.” You stumble slightly as you walk to the bag and pull it open. You dress silently, the fishnets causing a rush of feelings in you. The short tartan skirt is barely long enough to cover your now much smaller package. A pink halter clings to your flat chest. The heels are awkward for you, but you take a few tentative steps without falling over. You also see that the halter says 'Good Girl in Training' spelled out in eye catching glitter. Your face is still burning with embarrassment when the door opens in front of you.

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