My first attempt at a story, so please leave a comment: tell me what you liked, what you didn't like, if you'd want to see more, that sort of thing.
Breaking the Mold
His fingers gripped the bars either side of him, locking around them as another burst of pain flashed through him, causing him to grunt between his gritted teeth before the sensation dulled a little once more. He would not give in. He would not! He would not give them the satisfaction, he would not let himself sink so far.
He tossed his head back and panted deeply, his eyes clenched tightly closed, the cool air of the room setting his teeth on edge. The hour or so of grinding them together had left them sensitive, not ready for the cold embrace caused by his open mouth. He welcomed it. The briefest of distractions. Just that short moment of clarity a god send before the pain rose once more, catching him unaware. Unable to bite back the sound in a grunt this time it spilled from his mouth in to the otherwise silent space, the smallest of whimpers filling his ears, whisper quiet but at the same time deafeningly loud, his shame at the sound magnifying it in his mind.
His anger at himself rose like the taste of bile on the back of his tongue, pulling his arm away from the bars before slamming his fist in to them, snarling as the pain rushed up his arm from the jarring collision. He welcomed the pain, welcomed the distraction, the moment of clarity which followed the initial stab of discomfort. Most of all he clung to the feeling of control it gave him. He was in control of this pain, he could expect it, prepare for it, float with it as the tide of feelings rush over his brain.
For a moment he was in control. He had this! He could win here. He imagined their faces when they realised he had not succumb, his victory would be so sweet, so uplifting, so very...
He hunched over, wrapping his arms around his gut as the pain rose again, undeniably stronger than before. Inescapable. All consuming agony. His whimpers and whines filling the air, louder this time, but no answering rise of anger met them. All he could do was force himself to breathe, gasping and panting as his body curled subconsciously, trying to protect itself from the agony that was being inflicted on it.
There was no relief to be found. His body's curls going unnoticed until the pain ebbed once more, coming back to his senses on his side, drool leaking from his open maw as he panted. His eyes focused on the slow trickle of bright red blood oozing down from his knuckles, stark against the pure white behind it. The taste of bile was real this time, burning the back of his throat as he quickly jerking himself back on to his knees, gulping heavily to force it back down to his stomach.
He reached out to the bars again, looking between them, eyes desperately searching for a way out, something that his long hours he here had overlooked. If there was such a thing, then again it went unnoticed, his desperation, if anything, making it less likely that a solution would be found. He sank back, his eyes roaming upwards, looking through the bars above him, to the lock that prevented his escape. His shoulders and head already bore the bruises of his earlier attempts to obtain his freedom that way, he knew it to be useless, trying again would gain him nothing.
The pain stabbed at him again, working up his insides like a knife tearing through them - his paws clinging to the bars as he hugged himself against them, forcing himself to stay upright, to keep just a modicum of control over himself as he grappled with it; with his foe; with the pain. Little had he realised just a short hour ago how it would grow, how what had started out a slight discomfort could build in to this constant, searing, burning ache that filled his torso, the waves of stabbing, burning agony swelling and ebbing like waves on a beach, the relentless gain of the rising tide of torment no less likely to claim him.
He could feel desperation building in his mind, the inevitability of his surrender threatening to overwhelm him, to cast him in to hopelessness. He snarled, paws clenching around the bars that he continued to cling to for support, shaking his head and forcing his ears back up. He would not be defeated. He couldn't let it happen. He reached down for the flimsy slip of material covering his legs from his waist to just above his knees. Ferally he tore at it, trying to rip it to shreds, trying to destroy at least one part of his torment, but it was useless; his filed smooth claws just slipped harmlessly over the pink material.
Another wall of pain slammed through him from his tummy, but he fought through it, the sound of his whines and whimpers ignored as he pulled together the last of his strength, paws moving from the dress he was wearing to the bars in the air just above his ears, the dog trembling with adrenaline fuelled strength as he tried to force the roof of the crib open, to escape, to get out of here, to stop the pain which he knew would soon overcome his fragile self control.
The wooden bars curved slightly, the lock pressing out against it's ring as every part of his body worked together, every ounce of strength he had pressing up against those bars as he made his final bid for freedom. There was a low creak, and his eyes snapped upwards, hope rushing though him as he redoubled his efforts, waiting for the bars to crack.
The crack didn't come. He realised it never would when he felt his arms going numb, the bend of the bars lessening as the supreme effort took it's toll on his body. He gave one last shove, his growl of rage slowly dying in to a whimper of defeat as he slumped down again, arms falling to his sides. He surrendered his conscious mind to the rage filling him, slamming mindlessly against the bars all around him, adding fresh bruises to those already on him until not one part of his limbs remained pain free, the bright white fur on his limbs tainted with blood that oozed from the cuts he'd caused.
The pain slammed through him once more, forcing him back to his knees, every last fibre of his being straining to resist it... to not let it happen, to not give in, to not do the one thing that was worse to him than enduring through this. His whole mind focused on waiting for the gap, the moment of relief, the pause in the gut wrenching discomfort which would let him regroup.
The pause never came; the next wall of pain hit him and he had no way to fight it, nothing left to give. For one brief moment he struggled on with his resistance, but he couldn't fight it any longer, and his body gave in.
Tears dripped form his eyes as he tried to distance himself from the sensation, as he tried to mentally hide from it, to fantasise it away, but it was too much to ignore. He could feel the swelling growing as the swelling inside him shrank, the diaper that was locked on him bulging out as, control broken, he used it like a helpless infant. He sobbed, will broken, tears forming tracks down his cheeks as helplessness flooded over him, the sorrow of knowing he'd given everything to fight this and he'd lost.
Unable to stop the flow that he'd been holding back for hours he knelt sobbing, but even that didn't cover up the sound of the flood of his pee in to his quickly bloating pink diaper, the constant trickling noise joining the sharp scent of his own waste in his sharp canine nose. None of this even compared to the feel of it, the dribbles and drips and trickles moving down his fur under the thin plastic, too much too quickly for even the specially designed bulk to absorb. It pooled against him, warm under his rear as he cried out in anguish. Broken. Defeated. Humiliated and most of all ashamed of what he was doing.
Eventually he realised that he was empty, his crying slowly dying down to sniffles as the wetness was pulled away from his fur by the diaper, leaving him damp, but taking away the worst of the feeling of what had happened. However, nothing would repair the tattered shreds of the corgi's dignity as he sat there in the sopping wet underwear, locked in a crib, wearing a pink dress and a my little pony tee which were strained with his tears. Not only had he lost his battle, but he'd also lost a piece of himself.
As he slumped over on to his side, dazed, staring out between the bars he knew he'd lost that part of himself that told him he was always right, that he was untouchable, that whatever he wanted he could get. However much he tried to tell himself that tomorrow he would fight harder, that he'd find some way out of here and make the people who did this to him pay dearly, he couldn't find any conviction in those thoughts. His mind strayed to thoughts of complying, would it be so bad after all. He could just fake it after all, then when he had the chance he'd take it.
With that, the effort of his hours long struggle began to catch up with him, his eyelids drooping as he shifted in to a more comfortable position, trying to keep as much pressure away from the diaper as possible. Reaching out his arm in the moon lit gloom for what he thought was a pillow he curled his paw around a large teddy bear instead. Huffing he went to push it away, but couldn't bring himself to do it. The soft texture and familiar form were undeniably comforting, even if he couldn't quite work out why.
He growled to himself and tugged his paw away as he realised what he was thinking and instead curled his paw under his muzzle to support it, steeling himself to get some sleep so he would be ready for the next day.
Ten minutes later, through the blurry, soft focused screen of the baby monitor; an image you'd have to stare at to notice anything unusual; a couple cooed over the image of their cub, his arm curled around the large teddy. "Sleep well my good little girl." "Sweet dreams baby Ozone."