IBP C1 Part 7

The education was actual education. It took place in a lecture hall with desks and chairs, a large PPT screen displayed, much like a university lecture hall, with a staff member acting as the lecturer. The students sat naked on chairs equipped with hideous dildos. Perhaps weight-sensitive, the moment our buttocks touched the seats, the previously dormant dildos sprang to life inside us.

“Haaaah!”

“Hng, ung.”

“Mmm.”

Moans that stimulated every nerve ending erupted from all around. Everyone hunched over their desks, trying to endure. The sight was almost surreal. Despite that, the education itself was useful and contained valuable information.

‘This, fucking…’

If they had said something like, ‘If you want to survive on this island, you better learn to enjoy it from behind,’ I could have easily ignored it, but they didn’t.

I endured the harsh intrusions, forcing the information into my brain.

The island, which I thought was a single entity, was divided into three parts. The main island, with the large mansion and various facilities. The South Island, an uninhabited island used as a warehouse. And the East Island, a prison island used to discipline slaves who caused trouble or committed offenses.

The staff member in charge of education warned us.

“I advise you not to take being sent to the East Island lightly.”

He warned us in a detached tone that it was about ten times harsher than here. Pale shoulders flinched and twitched all around.

“Slaves have ranks. Those of you who have just arrived are all Common, but normally, you are divided into various ranks during the physical examination. The rank not only indicates the quality of the slave, but also classifies them based on their characteristics. The highest grade is Ace. This rank comprises the island’s most exceptional creations. You’ll probably recognize them instantly. Next is Boggart. Borrowed from the shapeshifting creature of folklore, it refers to slaves who have undergone a certain level of body modification. Lastly, there’s Common, the rank that accounts for 70% of the slaves on the island.”

He pointed with a laser pointer at a silhouette on the screen that looked like nothing but an alien, with the letter ‘B’ displayed above its head.

“For your information, the Boggarts’ body modifications are also performed on the East Island. I trust you can imagine how arduous and inhumane the process is, so I will refrain from going into detail.”

Click.

The staff member manipulated the remote control in his hand. The movement of the dildos slowed slightly. I could sense it. What he was about to say next was important. I tensed my body, trying to ignore the throbbing in my rear.

“Next, regarding the King.”

The image of the shimmering human jewel came to mind. Just as a bright light leaves a lasting afterimage, the vibrant platinum blonde hair remained vivid in my memory even though several days had passed.

“First of all, the island owner is content with owning and observing this island. He has never violated a slave, nor has he been violated by a slave. He will continue to remain veiled, never revealing himself. This is the only principle he binds himself to.”

The King was mentioned, and then suddenly the island owner popped up. It was a topic I was deeply interested in, so I perked up my ears. But the description of him ended there.

“And the only exception to this principle is the King.”

An incomprehensible explanation followed. Strictly speaking, he is a slave owned by the island owner. However, he should never be considered an ordinary slave. Unlike you, who only have obligations, he possesses unlimited power. His rights and status take precedence over the guests, and even the guests are wary of him and cater to his whims. I believe this gives you a sense of his position. As I listened, I was dumbfounded.

‘That’s basically the same level of power as the island owner.’

The screen changed. The upper body of a man, casually draped in a well-tailored jacket, standing in the garden, filled the screen. He wore a confident smile that suited him perfectly. The statues I had seen on the way to the mansion paled in comparison. It wasn’t just me who felt this way; the moaning men seemed slightly dazed. Their expressions showed captivation, or at least primal attraction.

‘Wait, don’t tell me…’

Come to think of it, although they were frightened, no one seemed particularly averse to the act of anal penetration itself. It could be due to the panic induced by the shock, but I had a strong feeling that their inherent inclinations played a part. A chill ran down my spine. I had a feeling there would be more similarities if I dug deeper.

Then, could it be that meeting Kibbus on the day I was kidnapped wasn’t a coincidence either? Is there something… about Kibbus? I turned my head. He was groaning in the back row, his upper body flushed crimson.

“…?”

I decided to reserve judgment for now.

I hadn’t met or spoken to Kibbus separately since the first day. It was an extension of my judgment that it wouldn’t be beneficial for our acquaintance to be revealed. He sometimes sent me intensely pleading looks, but I had been ignoring them. I turned my head away before our eyes met again.

Unlike the impactful start to his explanation, the staff member droned on about useless things. How tall he was, how much he weighed… He stayed in a separate building symbolized by a white eagle, and his guards, called ‘Knights,’ also served as his personal staff… Among the endlessly drawn-out details, only one thing seemed useful. He was the only one who had met the island owner, who never showed his face.

I placed that piece of information at the top of the island intelligence I had gathered.

***

The most dreadful thing, surprisingly, was mealtime.

Breakfast and dinner were delivered on trays through the slot in the door, but lunch was a communal affair for all the slaves in the dining hall. However, there was a rule.

“You cannot get up until you finish eating.”

After saying this, the staff member made us stick our heads through a horizontal barred opening, the kind you’d see in a prison cell.  It was something you could only do by getting down on all fours like a dog. To make matters worse, the bars were made of the same damn material as the hangers. I could feel the terror of the person next to me through our touching skin.

Once five of us were crammed in, the widely spaced bars moved up and down, locking us in place.  I instinctively tried to move, but my head was stuck.

My heart rate increased.  In this state, I couldn’t resist no matter what they did to me. The pressure from that realization was immense.  I wasn’t the only one; ragged breaths could be heard from all around. The staff member calmly went about his business.  A tall, large stainless steel bowl, resembling a feed trough used in a barn, was placed in front of us.  Behind us, fisting machines were installed by the sinks.

“Gasp.”

“Ugh.”

The staff member applied lube to the dildos, pressed the machines against our buttocks, shoving them in, and pressed a button.  I knew from watching porn that these bastards had definitely set it to a high level from the start.

“Haaaaaaaaah!”

“Aah! Haa. Ah!”

“…!”

I lowered my head. I shouldn’t have. Between my swaying nipples, I could see my stomach subtly bulging and vibrating against the machine, and my penis gradually hardening.

“You cannot get up until you finish eating.”

The dog-like staff member repeated the exact same words. If we didn’t eat, we couldn’t leave.  If we ate, we could leave. The five of us, as one unit, lowered our heads. The food was pasta with plenty of meat and vegetables. I couldn’t even muster the thought that it was fortunate it wasn’t actual animal feed.  As I forced the food into my mouth, my ankles became wet.

I didn’t know how it happened, but the man next to me had splashed semen on my heels and ankles.  I felt like vomiting. I gritted my teeth and endured. I wasn’t the only one feeling this way; I heard gagging sounds beside me.

Don’t vomit. If you do, I’ll really kill you.

Perhaps the killing intent radiating from my wide eyes got through to them; the five of us, despite our pale faces, managed to suppress our vomit.

Retch.

But in one of the sets (I didn’t want to use the word ‘team’) behind us, someone finally lost it.

‘Are they really going to make him eat that?’

I desperately turned my head, which barely moved.  This was only possible because my head was at the edge of the restraints. Fortunately, the staff member removed the soiled food and brought a new plate.  The amount of food looked the same as before, but the entire set looked incredibly relieved and grateful just for not having to eat their vomit.

Idiots.  It’s pacing.  Please, catch a clue.

I scoffed inwardly, then paused.

…Didn’t I just think I was fortunate?

A shiver ran down my spine. I couldn’t laugh at those grateful bastards anymore.  Adaptation was happening without my consent.

***