Breeding glory holes - Part 5 - New meat

Her secret had kept her safe for years. Until now. She is subjected to a series of cold, dehumanizing procedures, gets an enema, a tube in stomach and bladder, breast pumps for milk. She is transformed into an incubator—a nameless body, strapped down and connected to machines, prepared for a single purpose: procreation. But her first 'clients' are a father and son with their own agenda.

Tags - Glory Hole, Rape, Medical Play / Fetish, Forced Body Modification (Planned), Breeding / Impregnation, Lactation / Milking, Bondage & Gagging, Dehumanization / Objectification, Vaginal and Anal Sex, Creampie, Arousal from Pain/Humiliation, Anal Play / Butt Plugs

Words - 11187

Story sample - The beep of the scanner was the only sound that broke the monotonous hum of the coolers. Emma ran a barcode over the red light and a green number lit up on the terminal: 24. Exactly twenty-four packets of synthetic protein paste with chicken broth flavor. Carefully, with movements practiced to a perfect, inconspicuous efficiency, she began to stack the packets into an empty spot on the shelf.

The "Veridia-Nutri-Corp 7" supermarket was her world. A world of sterile white shelves, linoleum floors, and quiet, synthetic music that was supposed to be calming, but in reality only amplified the feeling of emptiness. She had been working here for three years as a stocker. It was the perfect job. A job where she was invisible.

Her life was simple, boring in some people's opinion. A quiet apartment in one of the monolithic blocks. The same route to work. Exactly the same days, weeks, months. Everything was subordinated to a single goal: to keep the secret she carried within her like a ticking time bomb. A secret hidden behind a false entry in her medical file. An entry that screamed into the system: INFERTILE. DEFECTIVE. USELESS.

And therefore: safe.

While her hands worked, her mind constantly scanned her surroundings. She noticed a patrol drone hovering quietly by the entrance. She saw the tired faces of the other customers. And then she saw her. A woman with a large, round belly, dressed in the finer clothes that marked her status. The wife of some official, one of the few "classically" inseminated women who didn't have to live their lives locked up in a Center. Emma immediately lowered her gaze and focused on the packets of paste. Staring for too long was dangerous. Envy was dangerous.

Her secret wasn't just a lie. It was a rebellion. And in the quiet, sterile world of the supermarket, Emma was fighting her silent, daily war for survival.

Emma finished with the last packet of paste, pushed it into place, and quietly closed the box. She was just a shadow, a stocker. Safe. She had no idea, however, that in a few minutes she would no longer be a shadow, but a target. She had no idea that her name was lit up on a terminal in an inconspicuous, gray government car that had parked noiselessly in the supply zone behind the store.

Two men in the stark uniforms of the Office for Population got out of the car. They walked straight into the office of the store manager, Mr. Boris. He was a small, bald man whose biggest worry until then was whether he had enough potato chips on sale.

"Subject E-94551. Emma K.," one of the agents said without any introduction, pointing to his terminal. "She works here. Bring her to your office. We have a few questions for her."

Boris turned pale. For God's sake, what did she do? I don't want to know. Just get her in there and get these people out of my store. I saw nothing.

"Of course, of course, immediately," he stammered and hurried out of the office.

He found Emma in the canned goods aisle, where she was just starting to unload a new shipment of beans. Her movements were calm and methodical. Boris approached her, sweating, unable to look her in the eye.