IBP C1 Part 8

The island granted freedom outside of training, education, and meal times. However, staying in our rooms was not permitted.  It seemed to be for the purpose of allowing us to adapt to the island’s atmosphere by wandering around, and I couldn’t be more grateful. I literally roamed every corner of the mansion all day long.

…Of course, I soon regretted it. If it weren’t for the goal of escaping, I would have rather stayed locked in my room.

In one hallway, plump white buttocks protruded from the walls at regular intervals. The panting and the squelching sounds of orifices spewing semen, clearly audible even through the walls, were horrifying.

At the end of the hallway, a guest was ordering a slave on a leash to fuck him, and the well-built slave, like someone starved for months, was frantically thrusting his hips, clinging to the guest’s backside.

“Ah, agh!”

“Hng.”

The flesh squelched incessantly.  At some point, the moans stopped. Instead, the slapping sounds echoing through the hallway assaulted my senses.

The man in a semi-formal suit, who had been watching me since I appeared at the end of the hallway, stared intently and then swung the riding crop he held in his hand.

Crack!

“Haaah!”

The whip struck the testicles of the man who was violating the other slave.  Seeing the two dangling orbs, disgust and a dull ache in my lower abdomen surged simultaneously.

I fled the scene. This happened several times. I realized that the island’s notorious reputation circulating in the city was a gross understatement. Slaves were embedded everywhere in the building like decorations.

Hallways, statues, pillars, wall clocks, and chandeliers.

I could understand the wall clock, which, at the top of every hour, had a dildo-shaped bird pop out and penetrate the orifice of a hanging slave. But what was the deal with the chandeliers?

Chandeliers, by their very nature, are installed high up, so the height at which the slaves were suspended was terrifying.  Even if there were safety measures, weren’t they scared?

Judging by the way they trembled and constantly shifted backward, it seemed they were too far gone to feel anything. Perhaps to prevent semen from dripping like bird droppings onto the heads of passersby, the slaves attached to the chandeliers were all gagged.

Other than that, there were slaves who seemed surprisingly leisurely, chatting amongst themselves or swimming in the pool.  Others were attending to guests or being violated in unimaginable ways.

Every day, I witnessed some shocking sexual act. Today, it was three muscular men tied to pillars.

Even from afar, I could see the exceptionally well-built slaves hanging from tall pillars.  Their hands tied behind their backs, they desperately tried to support themselves with only their feet.

Why are they doing that? I wondered, then I saw the dark red dildos positioned right below their buttocks and understood.

If they stood rigidly with all their might, the gigantic phalluses would only partially penetrate their entrances.  The pillars seemed to be made of a non-slip material, so it looked like they could avoid penetration if they just held on.

However, the slaves’ owners leisurely enjoyed refreshments and drinks in the shade of the trees nearby, letting time pass endlessly.

True to their robust physiques, the slaves held on easily at first. But their strength gradually waned.  Their calves trembled, and their thigh muscles eventually gave way.  That’s when I realized that the material of the pillars was also intentional.  The penetration happened all at once.

Slip.

Thud!

“Gah!”

The dildos attached to the pillars were the same as the ones on the chairs in the lecture hall. The moment weight was applied, the bumpy, dark red rods churned violently, ravaging the soft insides.

“Haaaaah!”

“Ahng! Hak! Agh!”

“Aaah!”

Every time their deep, throaty voices cried out in pleasure, the guests laughed and applauded.  Then, they continued to enjoy their leisurely tea time, admiring the writhing, convulsing muscular bodies as if they were appreciating works of art.

…Surprisingly, all of this was just a preview.

When I first saw the slave waddling down the hall, I thought he was carrying a giant, flesh-colored water balloon. Do they make slaves do manual labor too?  I approached without thinking, and the moment I realized the true nature of what I had mistaken for a water balloon, I froze in place.

Wh-What is that?

What the small, roughly 5’7” man was awkwardly carrying… were two testicles larger than beach balls.  They were abnormally large.  Could those, could those even be called testicles?  Were those things really attached to a person’s crotch?  Even as I paled, I understood why he was cradling them in his arms.  If he let go, they would surely plop to the floor like small sacks of potatoes.  It was even more horrifying that despite their size, they retained the elasticity and texture characteristic of sperm-filled sacs.

The man walked unsteadily, his eyes vacant. I hadn’t thought my eyesight was that good, even after I started seeing the world without my glasses, but I could clearly read the inscription on his silver identification tag. The meaning of ‘Boggart,’ which hadn’t really sunk in when I heard it or read it, was now seared into my mind.

The guest following behind him was more focused on his tablet than the slave in front of him. …How could he be like that?  I was so shocked that I stared blankly at the bizarre pair. Sensing my gaze, the guest looked up.  The tall, handsome man in his early 30s looked at my face, then immediately checked my identification tag.

Confirming that it was white, he grinned mischievously and kicked the waddling Boggart’s buttocks.

The man fell forward, sprawling like a frog, and his testicles, being so large, lifted his stomach slightly off the ground.  It looked as if he had fallen onto a giant water balloon.

“Haaaaah!”

Oh my god. It seemed that the nerves and pain receptors were still intact in his testicles, as the man screamed and writhed. I recoiled in horror, turned, and ran. I heard the guest shout from behind.

“Hey! Don’t be shy! You also got body modifications when you arrived!  That’s just a slight upgrade!”

His giggling followed me, refusing to fade away. That day, I huddled in front of my door until evening, and the moment I heard the click of the lock disengaging, I dashed inside.

Without even washing up, I crawled into bed and pulled the covers over my head.  That day, I waited for the gas.

‘They said they started using it this quarter.  I don’t know if I’m lucky or unlucky…’

If the gas, released at the same time every day, had been even slightly delayed, I might have smashed my head against the corner of the desk.

Grotesque body modification beyond human comprehension.

The fact that I could become the subject of such modification was more terrifying than I could have imagined.

As my consciousness faded, I felt a sense of relief.  Even if I couldn’t escape this hell for three years, I would never be able to fully adapt to this vivarium.

***

…If becoming numb is considered adaptation, then I had indeed adapted.

Now, I could look at people with penises the size of my forearm or testicles the size of grapefruits without batting an eye.

‘Was I always this adaptable?’

Looking back, despite saying how scared and unable to adapt I was, hadn’t I adapted surprisingly well?

‘Is it because I like obscene things so much that I got some kind of buff?’

If that’s the case, Han Yunseo, you’ve wasted your life.  You should just jump into the pond and drown yourself. Aside from my despair, there were also some gains.

The mansion grounds were much larger than I had imagined.  At the end of the garden was a 12-meter-high wall (I had to rub my eyes) armed with unmanned cameras and mini-turrets equipped with machine guns (I let out a hollow laugh. Koranest Penitentiary’s walls were 10 meters high).

I could wander anywhere within the grounds without being stopped, but if I even approached the walls, the rooms guarded by the guards, or the white building presumed to be Yudhis’ private quarters, I was immediately blocked by a guard or one of his escorts.

‘Knights, was it?’

I looked up at the man standing silently with his hands clasped behind his back.  Observing him calmly, I saw why they were called Knights.  A luxurious horse head patch was attached to the chest of his white uniform. It seemed to represent the knight in chess.  Naturally, I could add this information to what I knew about Yudhis.

‘He was the Chess King.’

The king on the game board controlled by the island owner. That was Yudhis.

I took a step forward. The Knight didn’t budge, and my face came close enough to touch his collarbone.  Looking up at him from that position, his face was an impenetrable mask of indifference.

I now knew that newly arrived slaves undergoing training were rarely touched or punished.  The one-week grace period ended today.

The shock of the deaths on the first day had also begun to fade. Shouldn’t I try ignoring the Knight and entering while my tag was still white?

I briefly considered it but soon left and returned to the main building.  Escaping within the next two days was impossible, and even if they didn’t lay a hand on me, I couldn’t be sure I wouldn’t be marked as a person of interest.

Perhaps even now, they weren’t stopping me, but my movements were being recorded. I rubbed my exposed collarbone. I felt as though I could sense the invisible tattoo.

The new slaves, gradually adapting, were roaming the main building in small groups.  Although they still seemed uncomfortable being naked, they weren’t as tense as they were at first.

It seemed that not being the only ones walking around naked was quite comforting.

‘At this point, I think it’s okay to approach Kibbus again.’

From then on, I went back and forth between the main building and the garden, looking for him, but I couldn’t find him until sunset.

***