Sam shrank back as the door swung open and two large men entered the cell. They both wore identical dark blue coveralls and heavy black work boots and their faces were covered in the same sinister flesh-coloured masks. About their waists they wore broad belts, from which hung, like sidearm, canes and electric cattle prods, together with coiled leashes, assorted straps, gags and rubber plugs. They were utility belts for slavemasters.

They came over to the cage and looked down at her. She now saw they had large nametapes sewn to the breast pockets of their overalls. One read "HATCHET" and the other "SHEARS". They had to be false, unless they were unbelievably stupid, but then why wear them? So she could tell them apart? That suggested she was going to be interacting with them in some way.

Sam gritted her teeth. Whatever they wanted from her she would not be cowed. If they did not know who she was she might still be able to influence them.

Taking a deep breath Sam grasped the bars, looked them full in the face and said, 'I am Samantha Fillister. My father is rich and powerful and you will get into serious trouble if you do not let me go right now!'

At least that was what she intended to say. What actually came out of her lips was a series of barely audible drones, wheezes and whines. Sam clasped her throat in horror. Why could she not speak properly?

The man labelled Hatchet held up a device she recognized only too well. It was a muting implant remote. While she had been unconscious they had fitted her with a muter implant, just like Beauty. They'd stolen her voice away!

'We like our women to learn to hold their tongues right from the start,' Hatchet said gruffly, speaking from behind the motionless lips of his mask. 'You don't speak until we decide you've got something we want to hear. If you're good then later maybe we'll let you speak a little canine. Then perhaps pony. But not like a person, unless we want to hear you say something special, because we know a slavegirl isn't a real person. That's why you've got a part name stamped on you. You're not a person anymore, you're SCREW 159.'

Sam shook her head. 'No, I'm free! I am a person!' she cried. But of course all that came out of her mouth were feeble, meaningless squeaks. With a snivel of despair and frustration she clamped her lips together.

'That's right,' Shear added. 'You're getting the idea. You're just a dumb thing who needs to be trained to behave herself properly and learn to please her masters.'

'You see, Screw,' Hatchet continued, 'we know somebody who wants a girl unofficially, one who won't be missed, for a little experiment he has in mind. And you fit the bill very nicely. For a finder's fee we're going to pass you onto him. After we've softened you up a bit and taught you some manners, of course. Because that's what we do.'

'Yeah,' Shear said. 'It's our business.'

Sam went cold. Now she knew what they were. They were "Breakers".

There had always been rumours about such people circulating about Irontown. They were shadowy traders in specially trained slaves and unruly girls who were impossible to master by normal means. It was said they could break any girl, however stubborn. And any badly behaved slavegirl whose behaviour suddenly changed for the better was said to have had a midnight visit from the Breakers. It was also said that they traded in slaves across the country beyond Irontown and its strict codes of ethics. They could obtain any girl you wanted... for a price.

But not her. She was free! They could not treat her this way! Then she recalled another saying about them. They believed that all women, even free ones, were at heart natural slaves...

'Now, if you've recovered we'll start your training,' Hatchet said. 'We've got a week before we hand you over and we've got to get you fit and tenderise you a little more. From the look of your bum somebody has already had a go. Been a naughty girl, have you? Well we'll do a proper job. Don't worry, Screw, we won't break you so you've no sprit left, though we could do that. But we'll just make you pliant enough so you won't need a cropping every two minutes.' He unlocked the door of her cage and slid it up. 'Now get on your hands and knees and crawl out of there!'

But Sam could not face whatever plans they had in store for her. Her thin veneer of bravado melted away. This could not be happening to her. Snivelling she shrank away from them into a corner of the cage, pulling the blanket up about her. But there was no escape. Unhitching their cattle prods they jabbed them between the bars into her flesh.

She shrieked and jerked as they crackled and sparked, her body twisting and convulsing as they stabbed into her thighs and belly and back. Shockwaves of pain tore through her. They only stopped when she had been reduced to a pitiful trembling heap in the bottom of the cage, sobbing helplessly. Hatchet reached inside, took hold of a handful of her hair and hauled her out onto the cold floor of the cell.

'On your knees, Screw!' he commanded.

Unsteadily Sam obeyed, swaying and blinking away her tears, her breasts dangling under her, her nipples feeling stretched by the weight of their rings. Her whole body was tingling and pricking and her muscles were twitching uncontrollably.

'That's what happens if you don't do as you're told,' Shears said. 'Do you want another demo?' He trailed the electrode tips of his prod along her back, through the cleft of her buttocks and into the soft mouth of her newly ringed vulva.

Sam shuddered and whimpered and shook her head desperately.

'Now in a moment I'm going to restore your voice just long enough for you to tell us what a good girl you're going to be for us,' Hatchet said. 'Then you're going to kiss our boots, each one of them, and tell us you're our slave and we're your masters. Understood?'

Sam nodded. She was too dazed to think of being stubborn or caring about her pride.

'On command you will sit back on your heels, clasp your hands behind your back and lift your chin. Now!'

Sam sat back. Hatchet held the remote against her throat. She felt something like a faint tickling sensation. The men stood in front of her with their heavy boots gleaming.

'Now say your piece, Screw!'

'I... I'm going to be a very good girl for you,' Sam said wretchedly. Then she bent forward and kissed the toes of each of their boots in turn. And as she did so she said huskily, 'I'm your slave and you are my masters.'

'And what's your name?'

'I... I'm Screw 159, Master.'

'That's better,' Hatchet said. 'Back on your heels...'

She straightened up and Hatchet held the controller against her throat again. 'Now you're set to canine,' he told her. He unhooked a leash from his belt and clipped the end to her collar. 'When we're leading you about you stay on your hands and knees like a good bitch. Understand?'

Instinctively she tried to say "yes" but it came out as a throaty: ruff! Tears pricked at the backs of her eyes.

They strode out of the cell with Sam shuffling along at their heels. Beyond was a long windowless utilitarian corridor lit by florescent tubes with half a dozen other steel doors opening off it. How many were cells like hers? Did they have any other captives in them or was she the only one? They led her through a door at the end.

Within was a surprisingly spacious high-ceilinged room. What might have been a pair of windows were closed off by steel shutters. Monitor cameras were mounted on the walls while unidentifiable devices lurked under dust sheets about its sides. The middle of the room was open except for a stout post that ran from floor to ceiling. Hung from it at neck height on a rotating mount and braced by heavy springs was a six-foot-long tubular steel horizontal arm. On its end was a large snaphook and a pair of coiled electrical cables. In a circle about the post a ring of hardboard sheets had been laid out, forming a kind of track, with an inner ring of hardboard slats nailed to them in radial fashion. On this board track rested a small four-wheeled trolley loaded with a sandbag. It had a long handle attached to its two front steerable wheels which had a pair of close-set dildos set on a hinged mount on its end.

'Now, our client wants you toughened up a bit, so every day, in addition to your obedience training, you're going to work out for a few hours,' Shears explained. 'We'll start you off on this. On your feet...'

They stood her on the board track and clipped her wrist cuffs together behind her back. Then they secured the ring on the back of Sam's collar to the hook on the end of the rotating arm. They uncoiled the electrical cables and used the spring clips on their ends to fasten them to her nipple rings. Then they pulled the little trolley over and positioned it behind her. Its long handle went between her legs. Sam snivelled as the twin dildos slid up into her vagina and anus. It had clips on its end that fastened to the rings set in her labia, ensuring it could not be pulled out of her.

She felt unnaturally stuffed full inside by the double dildos. It was only the second time she had ever had both her passages filled simultaneously and the dildo was harder than the toy one in the park had been. It was horribly like a hobby horse impaler mount, she thought dizzily. But only slaves rode those...

There was a small panel on the rotating mount of the arm and Hatchet set some dials on it. 'Testing,' he said.

Sam yelped, jerking at the arm and making her collar link rattle, as a sharp jolt of electricity stabbed out of her wired-up rings and through her nipples.

'That's what you get every three seconds if you stop or don't turn the arm fast enough,' Hatchet explained. 'I've set it for a complete turn every ten seconds. That's your target to prevent your nipples getting fried. You can do it easily walking free. But can you keep it up for an hour pulling the trolley? We'll see how good your stamina is.'

Shears stroked her plugged and clipped pussy, making Sam squirm in revulsion. 'Do your laps like a good bitch, Screw, and you'll get a reward,' he promised her.

'Get ready,' Hatchet warned her, pressing a green button. 'Go...'

With a sob Sam leaned forward, gripping the slats with her bare toes, and began to haul the trolley with the plugs in her anus and pussy. The arm to which her collar was fastened turned with little resistance but the laden trolley took a heave to get moving, especially as it rode over the first few slats which made it judder. She had never felt such a strange sensation as its weight tugged at her insides. It made her feel sick but she had no choice unless she wanted her nipples to suffer.

Once she got up to speed the trolley rolled along relatively smoothly at her heels, clunking softly as it ran over the slats. All she had to do was keep it moving like that. As she bent her head she saw the boards under her feet were worn with tracks from its wheels and, running between them, was a continuous loop formed by numerous dark stains merged and blurred into one rings. How many other girls had strained to pull the trolley round the track before her? She fought down a fresh wave of nausea as she suddenly wondered how many strange vaginas and rectums had the dildos now inside her been up before?

Hatchet and Shears watched her for a minute. Then Hatchet said, 'We'll be back in an hour.'

They walked out, closing and bolting the door behind them and leaving Sam to struggle on with her enforced task observed only by the ever-vigilant eye of the monitor camera. Gritting her teeth she marched on, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other and trying not to let her mind dwell on the nightmare into which she had fallen for fear she would break down again. She must be brave and stay alert for any chance she could escape. And above all she must not give up hope that her parents would find her.

Soon her insides were aching with the strain of holding the dildos clamped within her. She wished she could spit them out of her, but that was impossible. She had to keep them held tight as though she loved the feel of them inside her. If she did not they twisted even more painfully inside her passages. Inevitably her vagina was lubricating profusely, stimulated by the vibration of the trolley wheels as they bumped over the slats which was transmitted up through the towing handle. All right, she told herself, it's good that I'm wet. It's natural. It makes having the dildos inside me a bit more comfortable. All girl/machine interfaces needed lubrication. Every Irontowner knew that. Girl machines were well known to be self-lubricating. It aided efficiency.

The trouble was she was feeling more than simply "efficient". Try as she might she could not deny that she was getting seriously aroused. Her pussy was actually dripping between her thighs, adding her personal quota to the old stains under her feet. Was that the idea of the slats? To humiliate as captives were being exercised. How did ponygirls manage? Of course, they had no shame. They came if they wanted to. They were expected to. But not her, not a free woman! She would not let herself go like that. She had no choice but to do her laps but she would not give her captors any further satisfaction by humiliating herself.

And so round and round she went dragging the terrible jiggling trolley behind her by her genitals. Soon her legs were aching and she was dripping with sweat, adding to the stains on the boarding. If only there was a clock in the room so she could tell how long she had to go. Surely it had been half an hour now. Perhaps forty-five minutes. Only another fifteen to go. It had to end soon... because otherwise she was going to cum!

The vibrating dildos were filling her loins with a liquid heat which would have to be released. Her body did not care about how degrading it might be for her. In fact being bound and helpless was making her more excited. This was just like with the park warden and Cleaver. How large a dark side did she have? Free women in Irontown were more informed and adventurous with sex than the average but it was not done to respond like a slavegirl. At least, so they said...

By now Sam was clamping her thighs together, fighting exhaustion and trying to hold her orgasm in. Now she was waddling grotesquely, feeling her juices running down the inside of her thighs. Don't cum, don't cum! Ahhh! She yelped as she slowed down too much and got a sharp jolt through her nipples. Fearfully she broke into a stumbling rush around the board track. The trolley bounced after her, setting the dildos shivering and twisting inside her. The dam inside her loins burst and she came with a gasp and groan of raw delight that was mutated into a canine howl, spraying her juices out past the plug of her dildo.

Electric pins stabbed into her nipples again and again. She collapsed to her knees, pulling the sprung arm down with her, pulling her collar painfully tight against her chin. Her collapse drove the dildos further up inside her as she bucked and writhed, caught somewhere between agony and ecstasy. It felt like she was bursting. Her nipples were on fire and her juices seemed to be gushing out of her. Her eyes rolled back and she howled. She had had never felt anything like it. Was there any end to it? Was she going to die like this?

Then a bell on the control box rang and the terrible jolts stopped.

Her hour was up.