The whistleblower streamer, trained into a bespoke pet.

"My heart was pounding out of my chest when she was running just now." "Poor Xi Lu, so brave. Always going alone." No one noticed anything amiss. AI face-swapping and voice synthesis technology had advanced to the point of being flawless – the "Xi Lu" on screen had the same dusty brown shoulder-length hair, the same doll-like face and almond eyes, the same white blouse and black pencil skirt. Even the slight inward turn of her knees when she ran, encased in stockings, was a detail extracted and replicated by AI from her past video footage. However, the real Xi Lu – the woman who had "safely gone offline" on screen – was currently being dragged out of a hidden passage fifteen meters below the elevator shaft. Behind the elevator shaft of the Eternal Beauty Company's office building was a hidden door. Covered with the same grey soundproofing panels as the wall, it was completely invisible when closed. Two burly men in white lab coats each held one of Xi Lu's arms, dragging her out of the door. Her body was like a boneless rag doll – her head lolled to one side, her dusty brown hair falling to obscure half her face, a trace of drool from her earlier struggles clinging to the corner of her mouth. One of her black high heels had already fallen off at the entrance to the passage, revealing her right foot tightly encased in ultra-thin nude stockings – her toes were curled, her arch forming an exquisite curve, and a tiny thread had pulled loose at the heel of the stocking from friction with the ground. The two men dragged her through a dimly lit corridor and into a completely soundproofed room. The room was small, about twenty square meters, with matte stainless steel walls. Cold white LED lights were embedded in the ceiling, casting no shadows anywhere in the space. The air carried a faint scent of disinfectant alcohol. In the center of the room stood a metal chair. But it was no ordinary chair. Its base was a solid block of black cast iron, as stable as if it were bolted to the ground. The backrest was tilted slightly backward at about fifteen degrees, and the armrests were unusually wide, each equipped with a smoothly polished, curved metal buckle. The inside of each buckle was lined with a thin layer of black velvet. On the outside of the armrests were two leather straps, about four fingers wide, with quick-release stainless steel clasps. Extending from the base beneath the seat were two adjustable metal supports, each ending in a metal buckle identical to those on the armrests, but slightly larger. Above the backrest, a C-shaped metal ring was attached, with an inner diameter just large enough to accommodate an adult woman's neck. The entire chair looked like a modified piece of medical equipment – every buckle, every strap, every curve designed with a chilling precision. The two men dragged Xi Lu to the chair. One of them took a black tool bag from behind the backrest, unzipped it, revealing several items neatly arranged inside: a pair of safety scissors, a packet of disinfectant wipes, and a roll of medical tape. The other man began to undress her – his movements were practiced, clearly not the first time he had done this. He first unbuttoned the top button of Xi Lu's white blouse. Then the second. The third. The fourth. All the way to the last button. The front of the blouse slid open, revealing a black lace bra underneath – not a deliberately provocative style, just ordinary underwear, but on her, paired with her serene face, completely stripped of consciousness by the aromatherapy drug, it looked exceptionally alluring. Her breasts were supported by the cups, and the skin below her collarbone was covered in a fine layer of goosebumps from the low air conditioning temperature, the faint red marks from the lace edge of the bra subtly visible. The blouse was slid off her shoulders and draped over the back of the chair. Then came the black pencil skirt – the zipper was on the side of her waist. The man pinched the zipper pull with two fingers and pulled it down. Once the waistband loosened, he pulled the skirt directly off her legs. Xi Lu's lower body was now clad only in black lace panties that hugged her perky buttocks, and the nude stockings she had meticulously put on that morning, covering her from toes to the roots of her thighs. The way she wore her stockings was identical to how she had seen herself in the mirror that morning before leaving home – she just didn't know it now. The two men lifted her onto the metal chair. As her back pressed against the cold stainless steel, her skin instinctively tensed – she had completely lost consciousness, but her body still had instinctive reactions to temperature. One man held her head, while the other grabbed her right wrist, placing her arm into the groove on the armrest and pressing down the curved metal buckle to secure her wrist – a crisp click sounded as the buckle closed, the locking teeth automatically engaging. Then came her right forearm – the four-finger-wide leather strap passed from the outside of the armrest, wrapped around her forearm, threaded through the buckle, and tightened until the edge of the leather slightly dug into the soft flesh of her inner arm. The strap was pulled tight enough to keep her fingers against the edge of the armrest but unable to lift any of them. Then it was her left wrist. Her left wrist was secured by the same metal buckle. Her left forearm was fixed by the same leather strap. The distance between the two buckles was just enough to spread her arms apart at an angle where they could not be brought together – her collarbones were pulled taut, her entire chest pushed forward by this posture, the two mounds of flesh encased in the black lace bra appearing even fuller under the light than usual. Then it was her feet. One man squatted down and grasped her right ankle. The ankle was slender, the outline of the bone palpable through the nude stockings. He placed her ankle into the metal ring at the end of the split leg support extending from the chair's base – this ring was wider than the ones for the wrists, its inner diameter just fitting the narrowest part of her ankle, also lined with black velvet. Her left ankle was secured in the same way. Then he pressed a button at the base of the support – the two supports began to slowly spread apart. Not a sudden jerk, but a steady, unhurried motion, like adjusting a precision instrument, pushing Xi Lu's slender legs, encased in stockings, outward. With every degree they opened, the ligaments in her inner thighs were stretched a little further, unconsciously. When the supports stopped, her legs were spread into a standard M-shape – her knees slightly bent, her thighs splayed outward at an angle exceeding her body's habitual range. The area of the stocking crotch, covering the triangle hidden by the black lace panties, was now completely exposed. The panties were black, made of lace, and through the intricate cutouts, the soft contours beneath were faintly visible. The stocking crotch was stretched taut above the panties, the ultra-thin velvet material catching a subtle sheen under the cold fluorescent lights. And the area concealed by layers was now quietly exposed to the cold air – her honeyed core was still completely devoid of sensation, but it had already parted into a visible, narrow slit due to this angle of spread. Consciousness didn't return all at once. First came the sense of touch—the dull pressure of metal clasps tightened around her wrists transmitted to her mind, followed by the aching, stretched-to-its-limit soreness in her hips from the leg spreader. She vaguely thought, *What's happening? Why can't I move? It hurts so much.* Then, her mouth—a round object pressed between her upper and lower teeth, preventing her from closing her lips, her lips brushing against the cool, smooth surface of silicone. She tried to push it out with her tongue, but the strap at the back of her head was pulled so tight, there was no way to dislodge it. Lu Xi opened her eyes. Before her was an entire floor-to-ceiling mirror. Reflected in it was a woman she recognized only after staring for several seconds. The buttons on her white shirt had been fastened again—but incorrectly, the second button in the third buttonhole, the front askew, revealing a gap from which two mounds of snow-white flesh, supported by a black lace bra, squeezed out. The pencil skirt was long gone, leaving only a semi-transparent nude stocking and black lace panties, already damp in several places. Her legs were spread by the metal frame to an angle that made her scalp tingle. The inner thighs, encased in stockings, were pulled taut by the spreader, creating fine wrinkles. Near her private parts, a faint blue vein could be seen beneath the skin, pulsing slightly under the stocking with her rapid heartbeat. She was wearing only one high-heeled shoe—the other was nowhere to be found. Her toes curled into a ball at the end of the stocking. A single, extremely fine thread had pulled loose from the stocking at her ankle during her previous struggles, extending from her ankle all the way to her calf. She stared at the face in the mirror. It was her own face—her reddish-brown hair was disheveled, clinging to the sides of her face and shoulders. A few strands, damp with saliva and tears, stuck to the corners of her mouth and chin. Her lips were parted by the gag, unable to close. Her lipstick was smeared, and a mixture of saliva and tears hung at the corners of her mouth, leaving a faint white trace after drying. Her eyes were intensely red, and unshed tears still clung to her eyelashes. The thing in her mouth—she saw it clearly in the mirror—was a black, hollow gag. Made of silicone, it was oval-shaped, perfectly filling her mouth to keep it from closing. In the center of the ball was a coin-sized hole, allowing saliva to drain out. A thin black leather strap wrapped around the corners of her mouth and was tied tightly at the back of her head, leaving faint red marks on her face. Saliva dripped from the hole in the gag, down her chin, and onto the white shirt, creating spreading, transparent wet patches. She looked at the reflection of herself in the mirror, her mind frozen for a few seconds. Then she began to struggle. Not the futile tightening and relaxing of muscles from before—but a desperate struggle, using every ounce of strength in her body. Her wrists twisted wildly within the metal clasps, her thumbs pushing desperately outward, trying to pry them open, her fingers scraping white marks on the leather surface of the armrests. Her forearms were firmly pressed by leather restraints, and she strained her forearms and upper arms together, trying to break the straps. Her shoulders slammed against the back of the chair, and the wide strap below her collarbone tightened with every upward surge of her chest, the phản lực pushing her back into the chair. The video was her own. It was her hottest exposé from six months ago – revealing the surrogacy black market in the downtown office buildings. On screen, she wore a white shirt and a tight black pencil skirt, standing in the dim light of a fire escape, speaking in a hushed tone to a hidden camera, her voice laced with the tension and righteous indignation she used to master so well. "Family – this is their lair. See that glass door over there? Inside –" The footage cut to the undercover material – a fleeting glimpse of women confined in cubicles in the dim light, then back to her, raising her little fist to the camera – her signature move – "– Little Deer took them down!" Comments flooded in from the right side of the screen. "Little Deer yyds," "Justice may be late, but Little Deer never is," "I cry every time watching her go into these places alone," "Only she dares to do this, other streamers are just chasing clout," "Little Deer protect me!!! I want to be an investigative reporter too!!!" – the comments completely obscured the screen. Lu Xi stared at the comments. She used to read them diligently for every episode – not all of them, but at least a few pages. Back then, curled up in bed with her rabbit plushie, she'd find herself smiling unconsciously at the comments, sometimes even screenshotting them to post on WeChat with the caption, "I've received all your love." But now, kneeling in the restraint chair with a gag in her mouth, watching these comments, only one thought occupied her mind. This scene, it could linger for a few seconds, letting the tension simmer, then she nudged the gag with her tongue, letting out a muffled groan from behind it. Not a groan of triumph, but one of choking on her own saliva – she could only adjust her breathing through the small hole in the center of the gag. Then the screen changed. A photo appeared on the right side of the screen. It was a high-definition photo – it took Lu Xi a full three seconds to realize it was her. In the photo, she was secured in a metal restraint chair, her hands locked to the armrests with curved metal cuffs, her forearms bound with leather straps; her legs were spread by a speculum into an M-shape, revealing the patch of her pantyhose-covered crotch, her private parts hidden by black lace underwear – the dark wet stain there was now a full circle larger than before; her mouth was filled with a black hollow gag, saliva dripping from the round opening onto her chin, her lips pulled into an O-shape, her eyes swollen, her pinkish-brown hair a tangled mess. On the screen, her comments – the ones that had just been spouting "justice" – were being cut into segments, like a slideshow, and placed side-by-side with the photo of her in the restraint chair. "Justice may be late, but Little Deer never is" – the comment text on the left, her own drooling self with a gag in her mouth in the restraint chair on the right. "Little Deer yyds" – the comment text on the left, herself spread open by the speculum on the right, the wetness inside her pantyhose glinting in the photo. "She's always so daring" – the comment text on the left, herself on the right, her shirt buttons misaligned to reveal the black lace bra and the overflowing flesh of her breasts. Three sets. Three pairs. Then the screen froze on the very first scene – her on the fire escape, raising her little fist to the hidden camera, the figures of police officers leading away the bad guys behind her, comments drifting by: "Little Deer yyds, you are forever my light." And now, here she was in the restraint chair, gagged, drooling, her legs spread into an M-shape – this image, shrunk down, was placed side-by-side with the screenshot of her raising her fist. A line of red text slowly scrolled across the bottom of the screen. **"The Price of Justice"** Lu Xi looked at the words. A wave of immense shame washed over her chest – not the feeling of being scolded or humiliated, but a deeper, more profound sense of being pinned down by the contrast, of having nowhere to hide. The her who raised her fist and the her who was now gagged and spread open – they were the same person. Both were her. She had chosen not to notify the police, to go undercover alone, to trust that private message – all of it were her own choices. And now she had ended up like this. She squeezed her eyes shut with all her might. She closed them so hard her eyeballs burned behind her eyelids, her eyelashes trembling uncontrollably. But closing her eyes couldn't block out the two images – the smiling face of her raising her fist in her own undercover video, and the face of herself, bound in the restraint chair, gagged, and crying. These two faces flickered back and forth in the darkness behind her closed eyelids, exposing themselves on her retinas in turn. Then he stilled all the robotic arms. The recliner was adjusted to a semi-sitting position, and Lu Xi was facing the large display screen that descended from the ceiling. The screen began to play images. Not porn—no nudity, no one having sex, nothing she’d want to lock away on another hard drive. It was the kind of stuff—the kind of hardcore video she’d occasionally click on in her private stash but always exit with a blush. The first segment—a girl suspended in mid-air, bound in red silk ropes in a variation of the shibari. The ropes wrapped around her neck, split to secure the base of her breasts, then crossed behind her waist, suspending her entire body from a single point. The girl’s body swayed gently with the ropes—her breasts were cinched into two bulging mounds by the cords. Lu Xi watched the screen, thinking—she’d secretly watched this kind of scene countless times before, always clearing her browser history with a throwaway account afterwards. Her nipples were still hard from the suction cups, and the numbers on her heart rate monitor had jumped from the low seventies to eighty-nine as she watched. The second segment—a girl transitioning from standing to kneeling, then resting on her elbows with her back arched and her hips Kneel. The instant her knees hit the tile, a bone-chilling cold seeped through her stockings, making her shiver. Her knees skidded on the slick surface – the tiles were too smooth, and the stockinged tips of her feet slid again. She couldn't maintain her balance, swaying forward and back, almost tumbling to the floor. A staff member from the side retrieved a round pet cushion – a light gray, short-pile memory foam pad, part of the same series as the K9 gear in the equipment room down the hall – and bent down to place it under her knees. Once the cushion was in place, the chill of the tiles was blocked, and the soft pile pressed against her stocking-clad knees. Her knees sank about a centimeter into the cushion, and her calves, no longer suspended and trembling, finally stabilized. Her hands remained bound behind her back. Shen Moyuan neatly aligned the printed file on the countertop, then took a black binder from a drawer in the cart. The cover was matte black specialty paper, with the "Eternal Beauty Company" silver butterfly logo embossed in the center. He opened the binder and began inserting the file pages in order according to the table of contents. He pressed the tip of his right index finger onto the center of the file cover – directly below the butterfly logo – and affixed a high-definition photo printed that morning. In the photo, she was still wearing a white shirt – a high collar, the second button neatly fastened, the hem tucked into the waistband of a black pencil skirt. She was smiling at the camera, her lips curved upwards, her eyes sparkling, the same expression she had when she flashed a peace sign at the live-streaming camera after a successful undercover investigation. Yesterday morning, as she adjusted the collar of her shirt in front of the mirror – the button she had clumsily fastened incorrectly now digging into her chest, causing lace trim to peek out from the gap – she had worn that same expression. Now, the smiling image of herself was pasted onto a file cover bearing an "Eternal Beauty Company" product number. Shen Moyuan picked up a red marker from the pen holder, uncapped it, and wrote four characters below the photo on the cover: "Material Confirmed." The cap clicked shut with a crisp sound. He then flipped the binder to the last page – the conclusion of the assessment. He turned the file and pushed it towards her, ensuring she could see every word clearly. Lu Xi knelt on the cushion, looking down at the file pushed in front of her. The paper was freshly printed, still warm from the laser printer. Her gaze moved from the title at the top, downwards. "Assessment Conclusion" "Material ID: Pending" "Name: Lu Xi" "Age: 24" "Physical Talent Rating: A+. Sensitivity 42% above average population, psychological arousal threshold 38% below average population. Possesses clear and stable latent masochistic tendencies, accumulated a large amount of unreleased performance energy through long-term self-repression. Exhibits a dual-layer amplified response to K9 submissive postures and verbal rewards, a trait that registered as peak deviation among all fifty-three sensitivity points tested. Physiological adaptation to invasive stimuli is approximately twice as fast as average materials – anal sphincter autonomous relaxation initiation time from initial contact to stabilization is less than ten seconds. Weak voluntary control over urethral excretion, low passive urination pressure threshold with catheter insertion, indicating the material's excretory control instincts are easily overridden by external intervention. Comprehensive Judgment: Material quality rating is S-class. Recommendation: Initiate all preset training modules." "Estimated Conversion Period: 8 to 12 weeks. Final Product Positioning: Composite custom pet integrating four functions: K9 bitch, fully functional toilet, milk supply unit, and living display device. Target Market Price Range: 6 million to 10 million." "Trainer: Shen Moyuan." She read the words. One by one. From "Physical Talent Rating A+" down to "Target Market Price Range," then she stopped, staring at the figures from "six million" to "ten million" for a long time. She used to show off her advertising quotes in her live streams – fifty thousand for a single video placement. That was when she was at her peak, and she thought fifty thousand was an incredibly high number. Now, she was pasted into a binder with a butterfly logo, priced from six million to ten million – not for her videos, not for her channel, not for her influence, but for her very being. Her nipples could secrete milk, her pussy could contract to the desired pressure, her ass could take a training dildo, her excretions could be managed by a catheter – all of it quantified into a precise "target market price range." She wanted to tear up the paper. Her hands writhed frantically behind her back – bound by both nylon restraints and metal clasps – futilely clenching into fists and then releasing, her fingernails leaving small crescent-shaped indentations in her palms. But the soft rope and buckles were escape-proof, leaving about a fist's width between her wrists, just enough to prevent her from clasping her hands together, but not so tight as to cause injury. She struggled for a long time, unable to break free. She could only kneel. She watched as Shen Moyuan retrieved the file from the countertop, closed the binder, and placed it into a black folder embossed with the "Eternal Beauty Company" hot-stamped logo. He then put the folder into the locked cabinet in the lower section of the cart and locked it with a click. Then he bent down – she was kneeling on the cushion, reaching about his knee height – extended his right hand, fingers spread, and slid it from the top of her head, through her hair, stopping about a palm's width above her occiput. He gently patted her head. The gesture was light, just as it had been when he wiped the corner of her mouth while she was in the restraint chair. "From today onwards, your official designation in the system is K9-018-Reserve. The word 'Reserve' will be removed only after the completion of Phase Four K9 training." He withdrew his hand, picked up the marker from beside the cart, capped it, and nodded at her, "Good luck." He nodded to the staff. Lu Xi was helped up and led out of the room. As they passed him by the door – he was removing his platinum gloves and discarding them in the trash, the locked cabinet under the cart was closed, and he had just taken out a newly printed K9 basic training schedule – it was to begin at 8 AM tomorrow. The corridor. She was escorted down the corridor again – this was probably the third or fourth time she had passed through this area in the past few days. The stainless steel walls reflected the cold fluorescent lights, and every few steps, they passed a door. As they passed the equipment room door – it was still ajar, and on the small table inside lay the complete set of K9 equipment, arranged by component, all parts labeled with her designation: "K9-018·Ears," "K9-018·Collar," "K9-018·Paws," "K9-018·Tail." On the table were also the comb and the bottle of pink nail polish. At 8 AM tomorrow, she would be wearing these items. Then she passed the mirror at the corner of the corridor. Yesterday it had been a hidden screen, and the day before it had displayed screenshots of her live streams and "The Price of Justice" in the restraint room. Now it was just an ordinary full-length mirror – the glass clean and clear, the frame matte black aluminum alloy, the edges chamfered smooth and cold. The two staff members continued to escort her forward, about to pass the mirror. Lu Xi turned her head away, afraid to look. She didn't want to know what she looked like now – didn't want to know what kind of image was formed by her taped-shut mouth, her bound hands, her torn stockings, and the pink pet skirt rolled up to her waist. But after taking two steps, she couldn't resist looking back. Not yesterday's simple metal gag – the one with just two curved metal rods and an adjustment screw. Today's cart held an entire oral fixation system. The main body was a stainless steel frame, with curved metal bite plates along the upper and lower edges. The plates’ curvature was custom-molded into a parabolic shape perfectly matching the human dental arch, lined with an ultra-thin layer of medical-grade silicone padding. Between the two bite plates ran a vertical adjustment screw, topped with a graduated knob – marked from zero to forty-five degrees, with a line for each degree. Each side of the frame had a small hole for passing through restraint straps. These straps were black nylon webbing, ending in quick-release buckles, designed to wrap around Lu Xi’s nape and the back of her head, securing the entire frame to her face. At the center of the frame – between the bite plates – was a circular opening. It wasn't for ventilation. It was for another device to pass through. The device intended for today was already on the cart. It was a transparent silicone prosthesis. Not the thick, spiraled rod that had hung from the ceiling yesterday – that one was for vaginal training. This one was specifically designed for oral training: about fifteen centimeters long, with a diameter of approximately three point five centimeters. Its shape wasn't an abstract rod, but a complete imitation of male genitalia's anatomical form – a rounded head at the tip, subtle coronal ridge undulations along the shaft, and a base that tapered to a mount for a robotic arm. The material was medical-grade transparent silicone, and under the cold light, one could see embedded, extremely fine spiral channels – the same spiral pattern as yesterday's vaginal training rod, but finer and denser, because the oral mucosa was far more sensitive than the vaginal lining, and the same texture would be perceived much more acutely in the mouth. The prosthesis was attached to the end of an automated insertion arm that had been lowered from the ceiling track. The arm itself was made of aluminum alloy, with pneumatic buffer springs at the joints – yesterday it was empty, today it was fitted with the prosthesis. The prosthesis dangled slightly from the end of the robotic arm, its transparent silicone reflecting a moist sheen under the light – a thin layer of lubricating gel had already been pre-applied to its surface. Lu Xi stared at the prosthesis. Her lips tightened on their own, without any external force. Not out of fear. Because she realized something: her mouth – this mouth, this organ – had endured many things in the past month and a half that she had never imagined it would. The night she first had the silicone ball gag inserted, she experienced for the first time the despair of her mouth being pried open by external force to the point of being unable to close. Later, the ball gag was replaced with different types of speculums, each new one forcing her jaw open a few degrees wider than the last. Yesterday's metal gag had forced her jaw open beyond the angle for normal speech, but at least it didn't move – it just held there, forcing her to learn to swallow her own milk while passively held open. But today, this one would move. That thing wasn't for holding. It was for thrusting. It would perform mechanical, rhythmic, non-cooperative insertion and withdrawal movements inside her mouth. Her lips, tongue, palate, soft palate – the entire interior of her mouth – would be repeatedly abraded by that transparent silicone rod mimicking male genitalia. And her mouth's only function during the training would be to remain open, allowing it free entry and exit. "Lie flat." Lu Xi walked to the metal table. She lay down. The cold touch of the rubber mat was the same as yesterday – each small, circular anti-slip nub pressed a tiny indentation into her back skin. She looked at the fan blades on the ceiling, trying to keep her mind off the transparent prosthesis dangling directly above her. Shen Moyuan began operating the restraint arms. The first arm slid over from the side – the same semi-circular clamp for the waist as yesterday, lined with soft silicone padding, locking above her navel and below her sacrum. The knob turned, the clamps tightened, restricting her abdominal breathing to half its normal amplitude. The second arm descended from the ceiling track. Not the two leather restraints that had pulled at her wrists yesterday – the second arm today ended in a headrest. A curved stainless steel cradle, lined with memory foam, the foam surface covered with waterproof medical fabric. Shen Moyuan gently lifted the back of her head, positioning her occiput precisely in the central depression of the cradle, then used two straps – extending from either side of the cradle, wrapping around her forehead and chin – to secure her head to the table. It wasn't just a casual restraint. It was positioned so her mouth was directly in the center, beneath the insertion arm. She couldn't turn her head anymore. She couldn't lower her head, turn her face, or use her neck to create any angle of evasion. Her mouth After the door closed, Lu Xi knelt alone on the carpet, the residual warmth of being touched on her head slowly dissipating into the air. She buried her face into the small gray cushion placed to the right of the wardrobe – the short pile of the cushion's surface had already been rubbed into several flat indentations over the past few days. Saliva, tears, and hair dander scraped off by the handcuffs clung to the pillowcase – but now, smelling it, she felt it was the only familiar scent in this space. Evening – around the fortieth hour. Shen Moyuan came to check her oral condition. He performed a routine oral mucosa examination at regular intervals: removing the gag for a few seconds, observing if there were small, broken patches or redness on the inner walls of her mouth due to prolonged friction from the silicone particles, and then using a mouth mirror to check if the fine indentations on her tongue, pressed by the gag, had receded to a reasonable extent. He entered with a cart, and operated with the girl – the girl first disconnected the tubing of the micro-infusion pump, then went behind Lu Xi's head to unbuckle the leather clasps securing the wings of the gag. The moment the gag was pulled from her mouth, the taste of silicone clinging to her teeth was diluted by fresh air. The indentations on her tongue, long pressed by the particles, felt numb the instant they contacted the air above her tongue – she nudged her tongue against the roof of her mouth, and her tongue tip slid over the raised ridges that had been pressed out. Shen Moyuan had her open her mouth and shone the mouth mirror on it a few times, then picked up a small tube of oral disinfectant spray from the cart and sprayed the slightly reddened areas on the sides of her gums, long pressed by the wings. At this very moment – she realized she was speaking to Shen Moyuan with that kind of look again. She looked at him. Not staring into his eyes, but first glancing at the water cup on the low table – the same eye movement trajectory as she had done with the girl just now: first glance at the cup, then raise her eyes to meet his gaze. Her lips moved twice but no sound came out – not out of fear, but because she had forgotten how to control the airflow speed while expressing a need. Her vocal cords had been suppressed by the gag for too long, and her brain's language center had lost its ability to respond quickly to "speaking." But her eyes – her eyes were much faster than her vocal cords. Shen Moyuan tilted his head slightly in the direction of her gaze. Then he picked up the water cup, unscrewed the lid, and brought it to her mouth. She didn't immediately lean in – she first glanced at him, then lowered her head and took half a sip of water from the rim. A gurgling sound came from her throat as she swallowed the water – she raised her eyes to look at him and blinked. The same quick blink as she had done with the girl. He looked at her expressionlessly – then used the pad of his index finger to wipe away a drop of water that had seeped from the rim of the cup. The action was exactly the same as when he had first wiped her lips with a white handkerchief in the restraint room. He didn't say "good girl" – he wasn't the type of person to say those words. But as she lowered her head to drink, he pressed the pad of his finger against the corner of her mouth, then released it, and then picked up the tablet to start writing in the new entry section of her file. Lu Xi didn't know what he was writing on the tablet. But later, during her free time, she accidentally glimpsed a sticky note attached to the cover of her file – "Reward-based silent induction: Suggest using eye gaze as the core tool – non-verbal alternative channel activation speed exceeds expectations." She didn't understand what "non-verbal alternative channel" meant. But she knew that she had just spoken to him with her eyes. He understood. She understood too. Together, they constructed a conversation that didn't require sound – he asked her "Are you looking at me," and she answered with her eyes, "I am looking at you." The next day – perhaps around the end of the forty-eighth hour. The simulated sunlight in the fake window had shifted to a soft, warm orange hue of evening. Shen Moyuan came for another oral examination. This time, he didn't put the gag back on after the examination as he had before. Instead, he removed the milky white silicone oval, covered in raised particles, from her mouth and placed it in the disinfection tray on the cart – the tray also contained alcohol swabs, disposable mouth mirrors, sterile gloves, and that white sterile gauze. He took a packet of individually packaged alcohol-free hand sanitizer from the cart, tore it open, rubbed his hands, and then turned a page on the tablet file and wrote a line. "Phase one language deprivation training completed – effectiveness exceeds expectations. Recommend immediate entry into phase two: Reward-based silent induction – replace negative constraint with positive reinforcement." The tip of his pen made a faint scratching sound on the tablet as he wrote. Lu Xi knelt on the carpet – her mouth was completely free for the first time. Her upper and lower lips could touch – this was the first time in nearly two days that her lips could move towards each other from the sides, closing completely without any gaps. Her tongue could move freely in her mouth – she first licked the inside and outside of her lips with her tongue tip: from the left corner of her mouth along the contour of her upper lip to the right, then around her lower lip, licking away the dry, flaky skin and silicone taste that had accumulated for a long time. Her lips themselves retained a row of tiny indentations formed by the prolonged pressure of the gag's particles on the inner side – as her tongue tip passed over them, she could taste a faint medicinal silicone scent, mixed with the slightly sour aroma of her own saliva that had fermented after being isolated by the gag in her mouth for a long time. But she didn't care – she just wanted to clean her lips. Then she raised her head – looking at him with those eyes that had developed a habit of expression through nearly two days of continuous gag wear. Shen Moyuan asked her, "Do you want to speak?" She opened her mouth. Air flowed from her vocal cords – that airflow was the fear accumulated at the bottom of her throat for a long, long time, the residual wariness built up after countless electric shocks to her inner thighs, the emotional impulse that had risen to her throat when she felt understood while asking him for water with her eyes just now, wanting to say something. But the syllables were stopped by a force stronger than the gag before they could exit – it was a conditioned reflex etched into her instincts. Her vocal cords automatically retracted as she prepared to utter the word "want" – it felt as if her throat had made the decision for her brain. Her mouth was already open – her lips had formed the preparatory shape for the first word – but her vocal cords didn't move. They refused to vibrate on their own. It wasn't because she was afraid. It was because she wasn't sure she needed to speak. She had just looked at him with her eyes – he had answered her with his eyes – he understood. She shook her head – raising her eyes to meet his gaze. The shake of her head was light, her hair swaying slightly, a few messy strands of hair at her forehead brushing against the upper edge of her glasses frame. Shen Moyuan wrote the second line of supplementary notes in his record: "First attempt at speech formation after gag removal did not occur – spontaneous silence established. Internal self-discipline mechanism activated, replacing oral and nasal constraint – training officially completed." He clipped the pen back to the edge of the tablet, then looked down at her. She knelt in place, her lips finally able to close, but the gap between her lips, long held open by the gag, still hadn't completely closed – not physically unable to close, but her own lips had become accustomed to maintaining a slightly open gap. She could close it herself – but when her attention wasn't on her lips, that gap would naturally open slightly again. From the initial physical examination data, to the K9 assessment reports, to the breast milk quality tests, to the daily records during the exhibition period—everything about her was meticulously preserved, categorized, and archived, readily available for buyers to review. Her data file at Eternal Beauty Inc. was more detailed, complete, and aesthetically pleasing than her backend data on the video platform ever was. The platform's backend data only tracked viewership, click-through rates, dwell time, and follower growth curves. None of these metrics directly measured her body—they measured the audience. How many minutes the audience watched, how many likes the audience gave, how many bullet comments the audience sent. Her body was merely an indirect variable in those datasets—it was her face, her voice, her investigative reports that attracted viewers; the data recorded the audience's attention, not her body. Eternal Beauty Inc.'s data recorded her body—not the audience. Her heart rate, her pelvic floor electromyography signals, her pupillary responses, her milk production volume, her vaginal contraction strength, her orgasm count, her orgasm authenticity. These data required no audience—they only required her. They measured her, recorded her, quantified her, and then transformed her body into a physiological archive that could be flipped through at any time. Beautiful. Complete. Impeccable. Lu Xi looked at the file folder. After Shen Moyuan placed the certificate inside, he closed the metal rings of the binder with his finger—*snap*. The same sound as the collar clasp. Then he took a key from his pocket. Not the key to the filing cabinet, not the key to the training room door, not the key to the collar's small lock. It was a key she had never seen before in this underground training center—about twice as long as a normal key, with a cylindrical metal shaft and a tiny magnetic induction point at the tip. The key to the display case. He inserted the key into the lock of the glass door of the display case. The keyhole was on the right edge of the glass door—normally hidden by the metal frame of the display case, she had never known there was a lock there. The key turned half a circle in the lock—*click*. Then the electromagnetic sealing strip of the glass door emitted a very faint depressurization sound—*hiss*—the seal was broken, and the air inside the display case and the corridor outside met at the edge of the door seam. A small wisp of cool air seeped in from the gap, touching her calf. Her leg, clad in lace stockings, goosebumped on its own. Then Shen Moyuan pushed the glass door open. Then he squatted down and began to unfasten the restraints on her legs. First, the left ankle—the *click* of the spring lock on the metal buckle being released sounded different from all the metallic sounds she had heard for eleven days in the display case. After this *click*, her calf was not re-secured at the other end. Her left ankle was free. Shen Moyuan cupped her left calf with his palm and gently moved her slightly outward from the M-position—his hand guided her knee on the outside, slowly, extremely slowly, closing inward. Then, the right ankle—the metal buckle loosened, the spring *clicked* open. Then, the leg strap above the knee—it wasn't quickly released, but loosened inch by inch, and with each release, she felt a cool, prickling numbness on the skin of her outer thigh that had been pressed by the strap for a long time, suddenly exposed to the air. Then he stood behind her and unfastened the wrist restraints. When the wrist restraints were loosened, her arms were gently pulled forward from the bound position. As her elbow joints straightened from being bound, her shoulder joints emitted a soft *click*—the same as during daily cleaning, the joint fluid redistributing after prolonged fixation. Her fingers—all ten of them, without claw covers—slowly curled, then unfurled, then curled again under the display case lights. Then he removed all the internal devices from her body. First, the electro pads—he gently peeled the conductive gel edge away from her nipple. After the gel film was removed, the opening of the milk duct on her left nipple revealed a tiny pore, slightly dilated due to eleven days of continuous electrical stimulation. A drop of milk seeped out on its own after her nipple was freed from the electro pad—not stimulated out, but the pressure within the mammary duct had just exceeded the resting tension of the sphincter after the milk pore lost its conductive gel covering. Then, the vibrator—he held the end of the silicone shaft, rotated it half a turn against the direction of the folds of her flower path, and then pulled it out. As the vibrator was pulled out of her flower path, it was coated with a layer of transparent, glistening honey-like fluid—not being vibrated out, but the last layer of protective secretion remaining on the inner wall of her flower path after eleven days in the display case. Then, the anal plug—smaller than the vibrator, but he pulled it out more slowly, as the anal plug had been in her rectum for eleven days, and the mucous membrane had adapted to its volume; sudden removal would cause temporary discomfort to the rectal lining. Then, the three bullet vibrators—removed from the vaginal fornix, the depths of the flower path, and near the entrance, respectively. Each bullet vibrator, as it was clamped out of her flower path, had faint drag marks from the thin wires on its egg-shaped silicone casing—not injuries, but temporary imprints left on the mucous membrane surface after the wires were repeatedly adjusted in position over eleven days. Her body was emptied. For the first time in eleven days, there was no foreign object in her flower path, no plug in her posterior, no patch on her nipples, not a single wire on her skin. She sat on the back of the display case chair for a while, allowing her body to adjust to this state of emptiness, a state it hadn't fully adapted to yet. Then Shen Moyuan helped her up. The moment she stood up, her legs trembled so much she could barely stand. It wasn't fatigue—she had barely moved for eleven days, but the physical conditioning from her K9 training was still there. It was the angle. Her inner thighs, after being forcibly held in an M-position for eleven consecutive days, had their adductor muscles in a state of passive stretching for a prolonged period, temporarily losing their ability to contract actively. When she tried to bring her legs together, the muscles in her inner thighs were disobedient—they had forgotten what "together" meant. Her knees couldn't touch. Her legs splayed outward into an awkward O-shape—it wasn't that she wanted to walk like this, but the ligaments in her inner thighs had been stretched after eleven days of continuous pulling, and the range of motion for hip adduction had temporarily decreased by about sixty to seventy percent. As she took her first step, her gracilis muscle on the inner side of her knee was pulled—not painfully, but achingly, that deep, numb ache produced when ligaments stretched for too long are suddenly put at a different angle. She took two more steps, leaning on Shen Moyuan's arm. Each step pulled at the sore ligaments in her inner thighs. Her feet, in lace stockings, stepped on the acrylic base of the display case, and the tender flesh of her soles, still encased in a thin layer of lace, could feel the coldness of the acrylic. For eleven days, her feet, except for brief moments of air exposure during cleaning, had been wrapped in silk stockings and secured by restraints, never bearing weight. Now her weight was pressing down on her own arches again—her arches, supported by the lace, gave a slight collapse and then sprang back. Her feet still remembered how to walk. On the sixth day of the orifice training, Lu Xi had grown accustomed to the scent of the fifth-stage training room each morning, a smell carried by the leash. It was a subtle blend of the cool stainless steel, the faint, almost imperceptible sourness of medical-grade silicone from its manufacturing, and the whisper of a thin oil film left by the lubricant gel on the transparent dildo hanging from the ceiling, slowly drying in the air. In six days, her tongue had learned to automatically curl to make way as the dildo advanced, and to flatten to seal off her esophagus when it retreated, preventing nutrient fluid from entering her trachea. The transition time was a mere 0.3 seconds. This wasn't a conscious realization on her part; it was recorded by Shen Moyuan on his tablet, in the training logs. Had she been able to see that entry, she would have noticed that her tongue had transformed into a biological interface, automatically optimizing its parameters. On the morning of the sixth day, she was secured on the metal platform. The gag hadn't been fitted yet, but her jaw had already loosened the moment she saw Shen Moyuan pick up the oral fixation frame from the tool cart. The soft *ding* of the metal locking plates touching each other was enough for her temporomandibular joint to slide down a fraction. It wasn't fear; it was her body having fused the sound of "ding" with the certainty of "the jaw will now be forced open thirty degrees." Just as the click of high heels on the display case triggered nipple erection, just as the rumble of the cart wheels triggered vaginal lubrication. Her repertoire of conditioned reflexes was growing. But today, Shen Moyuan didn't immediately insert the gag. He placed the frame back on the cart and walked towards the ceiling-mounted rail. A robotic arm was already suspended from the rail – the transparent dildo used for oral training remained in its initial position, its cleaned silicone surface gleaming wetly under the cold light. Shen Moyuan didn't touch it. He reached for a handle at the other end of the rail – a new mechanical arm, previously folded at the end of the ceiling track, covered by a dust cloth. He pulled the cloth away. This second arm was shorter and thicker than the first, its jointed buffer springs black, unlike the silver springs of the first arm. The end of the arm was not fitted with a dildo. Instead, it held a rotating switching mechanism – a circular metal turntable, about fifteen centimeters in diameter, with eight evenly spaced slots around its edge. Each slot held a transparent silicone training rod of a different size. The turntable was made of matte stainless steel, reflecting a uniform, silvery-grey sheen under the cold light. The eight training rods were arranged on the turntable from thinnest to thickest, like the markings on a clock face. The first setting was on the far left. Its diameter was only one centimeter – thinner than the K9 tail butt plug she had worn for over a month. The butt plug was a gradually thickening spindle shape, its thickest point around 1.5 centimeters, a size she had become accustomed to. The first setting was merely a simple, smooth cylinder, the thickness of a finger, with no texture. Then came the second setting, 1.5 centimeters in diameter – exactly matching the thickest part of the butt plug. The third, two centimeters. The fourth, 2.5 centimeters – just a little thicker than the vibrating plug that had been inserted into her rear in the exhibition room, which was just over two centimeters in diameter. The fifth, three centimeters. The sixth, 3.5 centimeters – slightly thicker than the oral training dildo. The seventh, 3.8 centimeters. The eighth – the final setting – a diameter of four centimeters. Lu Xi stared at the eighth setting. That training rod was shorter than the other seven – only about ten centimeters long, but its diameter was so thick that it immediately struck her as a size that couldn't possibly fit into a human body. The transparent silicone appeared calm under the light. It was inserted into the rightmost slot of the turntable. No lubricant was applied to its surface; the matte texture of the silicone looked dry under the cold light. "The anal function module is activated today," Shen Moyuan said, gently rotating the turntable. The turntable spun on its bearing with an extremely smooth sound, a uniform glide between metal and lubricant. He turned it to the first setting and pulled the training rod from its slot. Lu Xi was secured on the metal platform – clamps at her waist, her head fixed to the headrest, her wrists bound to metal rings on either side of the table. Her legs had been repositioned today. Instead of being folded towards her abdomen as on the first day, they were now supported by two leg rests that rose from beneath the table, passing under her knees. Her knees were lifted to an angle of approximately forty-five degrees, her thighs slightly parted, allowing the anal area to be accessed from both the front and the side. Her mouth had not yet been forced open by the gag – so she could speak. Her lips moved, as if to say something, then stopped. She didn't know what she had intended to say. Perhaps "Wait a moment." Perhaps "Can we not today." Perhaps "Mmm." A faint sound, a throaty hum, escaped her throat, barely audible even to herself – *Mmm* – not a protest, but a psychological reordering of her body parts, which had already been disassembled into components. Her mouth was already designated as the dildo's channel, her clitoris was an A-grade interactive zone for the vibrating exhibition, her breasts were now 2ml milk-producing units twice a day, and her urethra had been probed to its limit once with a catheter during the initial assessment. Now, only the anus remained. It had been penetrated by a tail during K9 training, and stimulated by a vibrating plug for eleven days during the exhibition, but it had never been treated as a separate functional orifice, one that required training from thinnest to thickest, according to a scale. Today, that began. Shen Moyuan held the first setting training rod in his hand. The silicone rod was short – only about twelve centimeters, with a one-centimeter diameter. It had no spiral texture, no vibrating motor, no sensors. It was simply a plain, transparent silicone cylinder coated with a very thin layer of lubricant gel. He ran his fingertip around the rod, spreading the lubricant – the gel formed a thin, iridescent film on the transparent silicone under the cold light. "Setting one – one centimeter in diameter," he showed her the rod. "Thinner than your K9 tail butt plug. This is the initial adaptation stage. The goal is to allow the sphincter to re-acclimate to external rotational stimulation from training equipment without additional pressure. No vibration, no thrusting, just slow rotation – so slow you can barely feel it moving." He placed the rod against the outside of her anus. As the rounded tip touched the edge of her anal sphincter, it contracted inward on its own – not intentionally, but as a defensive reflex developed over dozens of days of alternating stimulation from the tail and the vibrating plug. Any touch now triggered an automatic contraction. But Shen Moyuan didn't insert it immediately. He let the tip rest against the outer edge of the sphincter for two seconds, allowing her to perceive its size. One centimeter. Thinner than the narrowest part of the butt plug. Her sphincter, having registered the diameter, made its own judgment – this size was on its "acceptable objects" list. The defensive reflex subsided by half, and the resting tension returned to normal from contraction. Then, Shen Moyuan pushed the rod in. There was no tearing sensation. No pain. Just a very slight confirmation of foreign entry – her rectal wall registered a foreign object, slightly longer than the butt plug but smoother than the vibrating plug. As it passed through the sphincter ring, there was only a momentary, slight feeling of fullness, and then the rod slid into the rectal cavity. The base rested against the outer edge of her anus. Then, Shen Moyuan activated the rotation.