Lifetime in a Day

[SoftGameHunter]

Teaser: What's a day, when every day is the same misery and horror? One woman's gaze into a degraded life lost but still hopelessly lived.
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The author of this story has read and accepted the rules for posting stories. They guarantee that the following story depicts none of the themes listed in the Forbidden Content section of the rules.

The following story is a work of fiction meant for entertainment purposes only. It depicts nonconsensual sexual acts between adults. It is in no way meant to be understood as an endorsement of nonconsensual sex in real life. Any similarities of the characters in the story to real people are purely coincidental.
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Title: Lifetime in a Day
Author: SoftGameHunter

From the archives. I'm not sure what depressing shit I'd been streaming or whatever back when I wrote this, but it's dark as hell. Even my wife said "What's wrong with you?" when I told her about it, and she likes hearing about my stuff even if she never reads them.
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Lifetime in a Day


She lived naked. She lived in chains. Every day was hard labor and hard sex under the lash. All in public. She had no other memory. If she had ever been free, clothed, or virginal, she had no memory of it. She really remembered virtually nothing of her life before eighteen or so, but even then she was an abused, beaten, sex slave and prison working girl. She still had no idea what her life offered her but more pain, more sex, and more exhaustion. Yet, it couldn’t last. It just couldn’t. “Up, cunts!” the shift foreman barked. All the women in the section stirred. She slept on the hard cement floor, just happy not to be chained for some minor infraction. Nine other females slept alongside her in the ten by ten jail cell, one of ten cells in the section. She got to her feet with the others. All female. All naked. All ages, sizes, colors. It didn’t seem to matter. She was among the youngest, but the oldest were in their sixties. None could remember a time when they weren’t degraded sex slaves, even after decades of captivity.

The door opened electronically. “File out, you bitches. Line up! Line up now!” After too little sleep, she hurried into line and took the position, hands behind her head, legs parted. Eyes forward. “Forward slave march!” he yelled. While one of the guards counted off the steps, the girls moved forward, keeping their hands up, keeping their legs parted, waddling without changing position so they swayed back and forth in unison. She knew it was wrong. Humiliating. A naked girl of nineteen deserved better, and most of them got it. Out there, most of them were allowed to learn their own sexuality at their own pace. Her fate was to be among the losers. They shuffled into the dining hall. It was shared between the staff and the sluts. There were free women there, workers, even management. They eyed the slaves with the same contempt as the men, usually even worse. She knew what was in store for her meal. The usual. Slop, served in a bowl on the floor.

Like the rest of the girls, she knelt and bent over to lap it up with her tongue. On the other side of the dining hall, at tables, the staff sat eating hearty breakfasts of food. Things she had never in her twenty years seen. She didn’t know what they were called. They smelled heavenly. She never ate it. Instead she lapped at her gruel. No one had pissed in it. That made it a good morning. She lapped up every bit. She would get no more before the evening meal. It was not really enough to nourish a girl like her, who remained skinny and awkward, despite her shapeliness. Food was supposed to help the body. For the doomed females, it just kept them going another day. She finished and sat up on her knees, hands again in the position.

“Get up! Get up! Get your lazy asses up!” a guard shouted. She got up with her cohort of miserable females. The guards marched them out front. There was a gated fence between the center and the public street. How she longed to walk past it. The people out there seemed happy. They didn’t make their twenty-one-year-old girls strut around naked all the time. Those girls were happy, even when they paused along with everyone else to stare at the captives. The slaves.
How could she be a slave all her life? How was it fair? Her mind raged! Her mind screamed! But her body obeyed. She would be beaten for the slightest defiance. The crowd was waiting for a beating. They got one most days, usually several. This was the inspection time. The girls lined up to be judged.

In her long twenty-two years, she had failed inspection fairly few times. It was a guise, a reason to beat up the older women and encourage them to die. And of course, some of her fellow prisoners were just worse with discipline. But failing was bad. Failing meant a full day of Punishment. Torture. Pain. Unending, unyielding torture, and then back to it the next day. She winced as the sergeant, John Helnick, stepped in front of her. “What the fuck is this, you revolting cunt!” he screamed in her face. A tear dripped down her cheek. She screamed inwardly. He would see the tear. That was bad. Crying by the teens was bad enough, but a slave of her years was expected to show more control. “Are you upset you bitch! Am I offending you, bitch!” He began poking down her body, squeezing her tits, pinching the nipples and twisting them. She whimpered in pain. He pawed her harder.

Then he got to her cunt and poked his fingers in, spreading her labia apart for him to look at as he crouched down. “Oh my fucking gawd!” he shouted. “How old are you? Twenty-three? Haven’t you learned to clean that twat better than this? Haven’t you!” He rammed his fingers in further, taking a whiff. “Gah! Fish food!” He flicked her clit several times before standing.

“Turn your ass around! Bend over! Hurry it up you goddamned whore! Spread those meat slabs! Let’s see your brain!” She sobbed as she exposed her anus to his gaze. Twenty-four years didn’t make it any better. “You’d better not fuck up, girl! If you go to Punishment today, I’m personally going to stick a hot fire poker up that shitter of yours and tickle the prettiest part of you!” He moved on. She shook, trembling. She had passed, but Helnick was pissed with her. Each guard had their least-favorites. She was among his, and he was a senior sergeant. He’d hated her for five years now, since she was nineteen, and she never knew why. She couldn’t ask. She could only try to endure it another day. She never knew if she could.

The crowd loved it. They gathered, men mostly, barely fifty feet away. They watched. They sometimes fought for position. Free girls showed off their fashion, flirted with their boyfriends. She saw other girls of twenty-five like herself, but they were happy. Sometimes married. Sometimes they had kids of their own. Elderly couples watched approvingly as she and her cohort were inspected, and everyone had a good laugh at the girl who inevitably failed her inspection, waving bye-bye as she was carried off screaming for Punishment. “Move! Forward, sluts! Forward!” Again they marched, swaying in their awkward slave walk. She was already sweating in the daily heat. Her big tits were moist and wet, with sweat dripping off her nipples. Unbearable revulsion was coming up. After years of practice, she’d seen nothing better planned to sicken and mentally ruin the girls.

Latrine duty. They filed indoors, twenty-five at a time, as if it were one seat for every year of her life but missed one. There were just bare holes in the long wooden benches under the bright lights. And below the benches was strapped some poor girl in Punishment. At least she could give some random woman she didn’t know a slight reprieve. She had to pee. But not to shit. Not most days, not with her diet. The unlucky girl, some redhead, put her mouth up to her pussy, and she peed on her. Into her mouth. The woman drank it down. She spilled nothing below. She licked her cunt clean. She got up. She took her place in line while another came in behind her. Cries of despair filled the room. It was the saddest room she knew. In her life, she had never seen worse for pure desperation. She was glad to be done with it when they had all finished up. Of course, another cohort of a hundred would follow.

From there it was a waiting period. They were marched out to the courtyard at the front. Work assignments usually brought them out into the city, out to the public. They would be heavily shackled, but escape was a non-issue. No one would help them. In twenty-seven years, she had witnessed only three free people try to come to the aid of the sex slaves. They had been quickly stopped. She couldn’t guess what the man’s fate was, but she saw one of the two women in chains at the center once, stripped and beaten.

The foreman came by with the marking girl in tow. He walked along the line, pointing to various girls. The marking girl then marked the selected girls with a brush of paint. Just a slash, color-coded for the task. Her big tits, swaying nicely at twenty-eight, usually got the mark. Tits were the usual spot. On his third pass she was marked. Green. Something in the countryside.

Sure enough, she was rounded up with just eight others. She was actually giddy, even at twenty-nine, just being allowed out of the city. Soon they were hooked together by neck chains and their hands were cuffed behind their backs. “Move, sluts! Move your asses!” At least for such a long walk they were permitted to walk normally. And then came the gauntlet, and the walking thereof.

Citizens, good people, lined the route, hooting, jeering, sometimes grabbing. She felt her tits slapped by bystanders. Fewer at thirty than back at twenty, but plenty. “Whore!” “Cunt!” “Slag!” She was just a filthy vermin to these people. They hated her and she didn’t know why. She couldn’t ask why. But they spat on her, screamed at her, hated her. Teen boys chucked fruit, trying to hit her cunt or one of her big tits. Younger kids threw rocks until their moms got around to stopping them.

Block after block of the shame march passed by. Big houses. Stylish shops. A nice park. Families enjoying the park. Joggers jogging, their minds on their earbuds and their music. Other thirty-one year old women on a work break. Maybe downing a cup of coffee. Steam rose off the cups in the chill winter air. The people were warm. The sex slaves not so much.

Their work site was a farm. A farm in need of help. She didn’t know how the farms were picked or how the girls were selected. But she was there to work. So work she would do. It was hard, at thirty-two, to deal with Punishments for laziness, but also harder to do the work. Much harder.

For unlike most women of thirty-three, her life of brutally hard work had left her lean but not especially healthy. Once at the farm, the girls were put to a grueling schedule in the hot sun, and the guards with whips were ever present to motivate them. She cried out every time the lash hit her, be it on her back or on her cunt, or anywhere else he felt like hitting her.

There was a lunch break, but it was not really for the slaves. She worked until she was stopped by a trio of younger men. They didn’t let her thirty-four years get them down. “Lie down, spread those legs, ya fucking slag whore!” one of them snapped at her. She murmured her obedience and laid her naked body down on the ground, parting her legs wide for them. One after another they mounted and fucked her. It was not creative. They didn’t try to shock her or be creative. They just wanted to rape, so rape her they did, first one, then the next, and finally the last of them, though he did take to choking her and bashing her head to the ground as he fucked her. But she finally laid there, gasping and weeping on the ground, as they walked off. As soon as she could she got to her feet and resumed her work before she was seen being lazy.

They weren’t even the only men, that first pack of twenty-somethings, to rape her. Another man came over who also was not put off by her being thirty-five. He was twenty, but just back-handed her on her mouth, sending her reeling. “Shut up and take it, whore!” he snarled as me flipped her over and shoved his cock up her ass. She grunted and whined. It hurt so much. But he wasn’t stopping until he had dumped cum up her ass and pulled out.

The afternoon shift went a few hours. Late in the season it was cold, and her padded thirty-six year old body gave her only slight defense. It was the final harvest. But before the day was done the slave girls were rounded up and marched back through the city streets. The city-folk were as eager to assault the girls on their way home as on the way out. Her hands were cuffed behind her, giving her body no protection from cool wind or balls of mud and rotten tomatoes hurled at her from sometimes point-blank range by the free people of society.

Despair was high in her mind. At thirty-seven, even if she were freed that moment she would have lost much of her life. Time she could never get back. But they never showed signs of freeing her. She’d never seen a girl released in all her life. Not once. The were municipally owned, held for the whole populace, captives for life until death.

Back at the center, it was time for supper. Back in the dining hall she found herself lapping again at a gruel that had not changed in her entire memory of twenty years, and probably not in the years before that, in the time she couldn’t remember. Except this day someone had chosen to pee in it. She still had to eat every bit of it, and then to wait. Delicious foods, meats, deserts, wafted their odors past her nose. Heavenly scents she could never identify and would never eat in her life.

“Get moving, you fucking cunts! Get to it!” She lined up for the evening shift work. And as usual, it was prostitution. The center ran a brothel of the girls. Twenty years earlier she had been a popular nineteen-year-old, given the honor of letting twenty men a night fuck her. Now, though, she found herself sitting in the presentation alcove getting only five demands a night, probably because of her reduced price.

She lay there under the third man, wondering how other women of forty lived their lives. Did they have men that loved them? That didn’t punch their lights out as soon as tap her shoulder? Did they have families? Warmth? Dignity? Hope? All the things she was banned from.

“Hey! What the fuck was that!” She turned to see him, Captain Helnick, storming over. Fear gripped her, as strong at forty-one as ever. “You, you rotten whore cunt fuck face!” he screamed at her. He turned to the shift supervisor. “She had her hand blocking her cunt! She was trying to save her, her, modesty!” The last word dripped out with contempt and hatred as hot as the spit that leaked from the corner of his mouth with his rage.

“I’m sorry!” she wailed. “Please, not Punishment! Not Punishment! Oh lord, please, I’m too old to survive it! Please! It’ll kill me. I’m so sorry!” Her shrieked apologies and pleas went for nothing as they unchained her to carry her off. She knew that past forty, and she was two years past it now, Punishment became deadly for some women. It was up to the punisher, but she had no reason to think they valued her body anymore.

She had to be carried, as most women did. One Punishment was enough to scar them for life. She had been relatively blessed in her forty-three years of hell and horror, maybe only two-hundred Punishments. Some girls got thousands, but they were dead much younger.

She found herself sobbing as they hooked her limbs to the big rack. The pulled the wheel taut and then stopped, letting the pros come for her. “Hey, want to fuck the bitch while we’re here?” one of the guards said. “Forty-four’s no fourteen, but hey, free pussy, right?”

“She’s really that old? Forty-five?” the other one said. “Hell, I think she’s pretty hot for that age. Yeah, let’s fuck the little slut!” They went at it, parting her legs and sliding the first guard’s cock into her loose snatch. She could only groan and take it. It beat what was coming up. The other guy got impatient and sat over her face, sliding his cock into her mouth. She sucked it perfectly, having had some many decades to practice and so many whippings for getting it wrong.

They were finishing as the Punisher and his two assistants came in. “Finish off and fuck off!” he snapped at the guards. He returned to his paperwork, mumbling out loud. “Uh huh. Yeah. Forty-six, eh? We’ll see. Hmm. Hiding her pussy from view?” He turned to stare at her. “You tried to hide your cunt? Do you really think you have privacy here?”

“I’m sorry, sir!” she wailed. “It was just an accident! I didn’t mean it!” It was true. She’d had her moments of defiance, but mostly she was a coward, and now a beaten-down, broken, miserable forty-seven-year-old lump of woman-meat.

“No one cares what you meant,” he said. “Damn cunts, think they’re special. Think reaching forty-eight years old makes you special? A tad rare, but also expendable, bitch. Now, I warn you, this is really going to hurt.”

He began by turning the crank, slowly, but surely and carefully. She screamed. She had never been racked, and now the pain of feeling her arms being almost yanked out of her shoulder sockets was the worst pain in a very painful forty-nine years. She felt and heard the pops. Then he ceased to adjust the wheel.

He began to whip her. Hard. She thrashed only once, but the pain in her shoulders exploded. He whipped her without hesitation or mercy. She had no response. She only knew the pain now, like nothing in her fifty years of life. The rack was new. But then, was it really worse? Or was she just being dramatic? She’d been branded with hot irons. Wasn’t that worse? She didn’t know. Not right away.

But then he branded her. He wheeled a trolley of hot coals over, and hot irons stuck in them. Slowly, he heated the irons to glowing, and then touched them all over her fifty-one-year-old naked body. Oh how she shrieked. How she thrashed. He branded her nipples. He branded her gash. He branded her up and down and inside and out.

Punishment. The most feared aspect of the slaves lives. And the most destructive. At fifty-two, she had no stamina left. When the session ended hours later, hours of endless torture without break, she curled up on the cement floor of the cell with the other nine as they filed in. It was late. Midnight. They’d be up at six. She hadn’t known a moment of restfulness in all her memory, though as a younger girl all those decades ago she had handled it better.

For all her fatigue, she did not fall asleep easily. She tossed and turned, shivering, sweating. As an elder slave, the younger ones gave her some deference. She was an ungodly fifty-three, over thirty years older than some of them. She sometimes despaired of their future. And of her own.

She cried, feeling pain and wrongness inside herself. It was too much. They’d gone too far. She was too old. Fifty-four years too old. No one should have their lives converted into pure sexual pain and suffering, but she had. And nothing she ever did would get it back.

As nobody and nothing, she took early retirement from life at fifty-five. Her heart failed. She became just another piece of actual meat, a dead woman, lying on the cement surrounded by youth, beauty, and despair. No name, no one to care. A cast-off lump of shit. Her body was ground up and sold to a farm, and the center’s director made a note in the log that another useless whore had just maximized her value to the universe.

[Shocker]

You are absolutely right about this one being dark. But there is a bit of true genius shining through. I love how you string the events together, making them a continuous story only to sneakily hit us with another time jump.

[SoftGameHunter]

Rep point for calling me a genius.

[Shocker]

Rep point for calling me a genius.

As you can see I have to gather them by all means possible

[JTCK]

Oh yes, this story is very dark. While reading, I kept wondering the whole time whether I liked this stylistic device with the jumps of her age or not—and I’m still not entirely sure. But the story definitely captivated me, so it must be good.

This is certainly not my favorite story of yours, but it’s something different and adds value to the forum. And as always, it’s very well written. So three points from me.

[Lucius]

Not in the least arousing, but it's a good one. Time as perceived by us humans isn't some kind of absolute, and here it's portrayed very well.