It would be kind of hot to fall asleep and have them keep fucking her anyway but frankly she's more awake than they are, by now. She could sleep but isn't going to nod off by accident. She doesn't know if that's a mutation or if this new body has merely restored her prior youthful ability to pull all-nighters with ease.

They're not going to try a third time to make an Oasis Jar of Mira-Milk, are they.

Tafi and Ekeshi are both yawning by this point.

"I'm not going to sleep without a collar on her," says Orss, arms sternly crossed.

Ekeshi, pulling off Mira's blindfold again, looks like she wants to object but is too tired to make the effort; instead she says, stifling a yawn, "I'll sleep on it, see if I have any brilliant ideas in the morning. We can always take the collar off if I make it work."

Aza is the only one of them still doing fine on the sleepiness front. He asks Mira, a hint of wry humour in his tone, "If I keep fucking you all night will that cheer you up any?"

"Collar?"

But Aza's question is more important, and the idea of going to sleep with an empty pussy and no-one touching her is oddly terrifying.

"I think it'd probably help. You can try it and see." Not playful, just true.

They seem briefly confused by her question about the collar, but then she responds to Aza and nobody follows up on asking her what she meant.

Orss gets a simple leather band out of the carriage and closes it around Mira's neck, while Aza cheerfully gropes her breasts and fucks her, and Tafi gets her some more water with the chalice.

The collar doesn't actually do anything, until someone gives her an order. Her slime suit wriggles around her neck and coats the leather, and once it does the feeling of wearing it almost disappears, and Mira forgets to be curious if it might be more than symbolic.

During a pause in the sex to drink more water, Mira feels tears coming into her eyes. "Would it matter at all, if I begged you not to sell me? What if, what if I joined you, instead. I could promise to be a part of your group for however long you all agreed would be worth the same as what you'd get upfront from selling me?"

"No offense, girl, but we don't know you nearly that well," says Orss.

"If you're agreeing to join us just so we won't sell you, that makes it pretty hard to really trust you," says Aza. "I like you fine, but I'm not sure I'd want to make camp with you every night for a year, knowing you probably resent us for catching you like this. Too many things can go wrong there."

Orss is helping Ekeshi lay out bedrolls, but she nods sharply at that.

"If I don't resent you already, I don't think that's something you need to worry about?"

Mira lets what she just said percolate through her mind.

"...no, I wouldn't resent you for my own sake but, I don't know everything you get up to obviously, but I suspect I wouldn't be able to go along with everything else you might do as easily. And I never make a promise I know I might not keep."

She presses herself back against Aza, her pussy clinging to his monumental shaft, and lets herself quietly cry. It's kind of hot, someone fucking her while she's crying. She let's herself fear her uncertain future as a child fears the darkness.

Aza fucks her and hugs her. Tafi fetches a handkerchief and wipes her face.

Everyone except Aza goes to bed. Ralin, too bleary for anything complicated like speaking, still manages to pat Mira's knee before he curls up on the rug and goes back to sleep.

Gentle crying sex is really nice, actually.

Mira was right, though, about having Aza's cock in her all night. Once he stops moving, going to sleep impaled on Aza's massive dick keeps her constant arousal from tormenting her, finding an odd but comfortable equilibrium of edging-that-doesn't-feel-like-edging. She suspects multiple of her mutations are interacting to achieve this effect, which is still pretty neat, despite The Whole Situation.

In the morning, Tafi makes breakfast and Ralin cuddles Mira and gropes her while Aza continues to fuck her. Ekeshi spends an hour muttering to herself and then they make a third try at the jar, which, this time around, disappears completely with a soft popping sound and leaves a tingly crackling feeling in the air. She declares herself out of ideas at that point.

They pack up and swing around to head for the capital, where they have the best chance of finding a buyer who will be both highly interested in this rare commodity and also halfway decent as a person. Apparently, the setup while they're on the move is that everyone else rides in the carriage while Aza pulls it. After a brief discussion, they decide to have Mira ride on Aza's dick, tied to him by a fairly thorough rope harness that Ralin helps construct.

Thus passes their first day of travel. The second is much the same, though without an oasis to stop by at night. The night after that, they find another oasis, this one with some rudimentary semi-permanent infrastructure, though no other travellers are stopping there that night. Ekeshi makes a jar at it.

Aza is less enthusiastic about walking a civilized road with a slave strapped to his cock, so they retie her with her arms behind her back and stash her in the carriage, where Tafi is always happy to molest her if it makes her feel better. Ralin is more generally morose about this turn of events, but still perks up enough to fuck her most evenings.

All in all, it takes them six days of gradually increasing civilizational density before they finally reach the capital. Everyone puts the word out to their own personal contacts, and they conduct a quiet bidding war over the course of a few days (with Mira still sleeping on Aza's dick in their camp just outside town and staying tied up inside the carriage most of the rest of the time, though Ralin makes time to show her the library one afternoon) until they finally settle on a large, orderly, well-run house of pleasure that has plans involving a milking machine and a wall with a hole in it.

It's really, really hard to dislike these people. It really is.

Riding along on Aza's dick, strapped to him by a rope harness while he pulls the carriage, gets a delighted laugh out of her.

Ralin is a sweetheart. She hopes she ends up somewhere he can visit. The library is a delightful surprise, even if she probably won't get to spend much time there after they sell her.

When Mira sees the milking machine and the wall with a hole in it, she's relieved, honestly. And grateful all over again to the Oasis Gang. Without her mutations that would probably be less fun than it looks but it looks pretty fun and with her mutations it might actually be that fun, she's willing to give it a chance before she falls into despair about her new life.

The house of pleasure in question is called the Masked Garden, and the co-managers are an unassuming married couple going by Mr. and Mrs. Lucratite.

The couple has a sharp eye for deals, and once the nature of Mira's 'milk' is demonstrated to them, they immediately understand what they're looking at. Their son runs the next-door fleshcrafting business, and is trained in the creation of Clear Hearts, in addition to the more usual fun-oriented mutations. This could be an incredible boon to that business, allowing their son to vastly undercut the competition.

Mr. and Mrs. Lucratite are prepared to offer the Oasis Gang thus and so much money in these and those denominations to take ownership of Mira immediately. Does the Oasis Gang have a counter-offer?

Orss haggles them up a little, enough to maintain her reputation as a sharp-eyed trader who can't be fooled into taking a lowball offer, but doesn't draw things out any longer than she needs to.

They make time for a private goodbye, during which Ralin promises he'll come check on her once in a while when the gang is in the city, and Aza says maybe he'll come along and fuck her if he can spare the coin. Ralin hugs her one last time.

Surprising everyone, Orss casually mentions that they'll probably hang onto most of her stuff, and if she ever gets free she can come collect it from them if she happens to run into them again. Not the money, but the cup and the cloak and the gauntlet and all that, if she's sentimental about any of it.

And then they turn her over to the Masked Garden and walk away.

"Thanks," Mira says to Orss in a dryly deadpan manner that straddles the difference between genuine gratitude for hanging on to her possessions and annoyance at the explicit dis-inclusion of her cash gems in that promise.

Her goodbyes with everyone else are a lot more genuine.

Wait, hang on, did they tell the Lucratites about Mira's weird inability to undo her own bondage?

(They did, as it happens. Orss unapologetically admits that it brought a higher price.)

Of course. In any case.

Goodbye, Oasis Gang. Hello, Masked Garden.

"Cast no magic of any kind," is the first order Mira receives.

     Mira wants to protest that surely some of her magic is harmless and just for convenience, but a sudden cringing repulsed feeling sweeps over her and stops her in her tracks. She is too distracted by the mysterious phenomenon to protest again.

The Lucratites assume this means the slave collar is working as intended.

Mira's nude body is shackled into place with thick leather cuffs. A soft silicone gasket sort of thing holds her waist secure in the middle of an interior wall. On one side of the wall, her lower half is presented and exposed to a comfortable lounge where guests may make use of her holes alongside several other wall-mounted slavegirls. Her thighs are bolted to the wall and her ankles are shackled to the floor, keeping her hips poised to present her ass and pussy for maximum appeal.

On the other side of the wall, Mira's upper half is locked into place with padded metal bars, presenting her breasts for easy access. The milking machine is mounted right under her, pressing the ends of its suction sleeves into her areola, making sure her nipples can't slip free no matter how she wriggles. There's a horseshoe-shaped seat for her face, with a pink silicone dildo sticking out of it. At the Lucratites' order, Mira is forced to impale her throat on the dildo and then have her head strapped securely to the seat, leaving her with nothing to look at but the floor. The dildo is hooked up to a tank of lightly-sugared and even-more-lightly-salted water, and will slowly trickle the liquid into her stomach to keep her hydrated.

Once Mira is locked in, and the milking machine turned on, they close her up in her little 'backstage' cubbyhole and only come back to collect her 'milk' and to refill her feeding tank.

The Lucratites confirm that Mira has the mutations she's supposed to, and... that's it. Her optimized digestion means that she doesn't need bathroom breaks. Her cleanliness mutations mean she doesn't need hygiene breaks. Her Slut crest means they don't have to let her see a fleshcrafter to make sure she's not pregnant. Her full suite of sexual mutations means they don't have to ration or micro-manage access to her holes. And thanks to her regeneration, they don't need to let her out to stretch either.

They can just, leave her there, mounted in the wall, with the milking machine sucking away at her breasts. For as long as they want. Days. Weeks. Longer.

Mira has had fantasies like this.

At first, it really isn't that bad.

She can close her eyes to the bland view and just focus on the sensation of being in such secure and comprehensive bondage, thrills of excitement and pleasure racing through her with every wriggle, thick dildo violating her throat while her lower holes are free and on display for anyone who walks into that other room.

She feels hands on her ass and thighs, and at regular intervals feels the cocks of strangers penetrate her and thrust away until they spurt their hot cum deep inside her, usually in her pussy but sometimes anally, and having no say in that is exciting too.

Mira doesn't bother to count her orgasms, there are so many. Even when no one is fucking her, the constant, inescapable suction on her breasts and the pressure of the bondage holding her in place slowly drags her to the peak, the need welling up inside her until her pussy starts clenching on nothing, quivering under the eyes of whoever might be watching.

That first night, when her lower half is left untouched for hours and hours and hours while the machine sucking her breasts keeps forcing her to cum anyway... Well, it was a kind of torment, but a sexy torment, a torment that served mainly to make the bondage she was locked into loom ever-greater in her mind. The raw emptiness of her pussy keeps her awake all night, though.

It's busier the next day.

Less busy the day after that.

Busier again the day after that.

Nothing changes other than that, and at night Mira's poor pussy continues to be neglected.

The lack of sleep would be getting genuinely unpleasant, but thankfully her bonded slime suit comes to her rescue.

No one would be able to tell, just by looking, given how Mira perpetually appears to be drenched in lube, but her slime suit has shifted some of its mass down to her crotch, forming a lump that applies constant pressure to Mira's clit, as well as forming the head of a disembodied slime-phallus deep inside her, swelling up between her walls to calm the ache of being empty.

The next day when the Masked Garden's clients start fucking her again, no one seems to notice the tip of their dick squishing into the back end of the deeply buried slime-dildo already inside her. Some of the dicks that pound away at her don't even reach that far. Her pussy can take a lot of cock before it hits its limits, and yet the smaller ones still manage to feel nearly as good.

And then at night, Mira can bliss out on the steady pressure of slime against her womb and clit, and on the steady pulsing suction on her nipples, and cum in a way that doesn't leave her aching and tormented.

That's good, because this is Mira's life now.

There are no plans for different accommodations any time in the future.

This is all there will be for her.

It barely takes a week before the soul-crushing boredom can no longer be kept at bay by kinky bondage sex and lots of orgasms, when there's no variety in those things. Mira can't even ask for a change of pace because there's been a dildo stuffed down her throat for the last hundred-and-seventy hours.

She'd kill for a book. Hell, she'd kill for a mirror. Even just being able see herself in this predicament would probably be hot enough to stare at for a couple of days.

Her slime suit tries to help, tries to fuck her more thoroughly itself, so she'll spend more time cumming hard enough that she doesn't notice the passage of time, but there's only so much it's willing or able to do when it doesn't want to be seen by anyone on the other side of the wall.

That she's stuck here, trapped like this, forced to cum even when she grows listless at the prospect, is hot in the abstract. If she ever does get out of here she's probably going to masturbate furiously to the memory any time she's alone and horny. But first she has to get out of here. And she's still incapable of releasing herself from bondage, even if she didn't have a weird aversion to using magic, now.

The next time a staff-person comes into her cubbyhole to replace the 'milk' tanks and refill her water, he misaligns the new tank a little. It's still hooked up correctly, but after he leaves, Mira's next orgasm rattles the bondage frame.

The tank slips.

The frame bends.

With a creak of metal, the water tank jerks free and bends downward, impacting the restraining bar that holds Mira's right arm in place. It warps the bar too, crushing Mira's arm with bruising force.

Mira squeals in pain, but with the feeding dildo stuffed down her throat it probably doesn't sound any different than her squeals of pleasure. She can't call for help.

It feels like her arm is breaking, agony and panic signals lancing out from the bones inside her flesh. She struggles violently, half-panicked, for the first couple of seconds, but there's no more escape now than there was before. Her whole body goes rigid, braced against the pain, and the cock currently fucking her stops moving as she clamps down on it. A moment later it spasms, squirting hot cum into her pussy, which is at least a little bit of a distraction. But then it withdraws.

Pain. Pain. Pain. So much pain. Her arm is breaking. The nipple-suction isn't even making her cum anymore. This might be the least aroused this body has ever been, though that isn't saying much. Her pussy is still wet and the next cock splits her open with ease despite how tight she's clenching.

She cries out in a desperate plea. It hurts! Help! Someone help! Please!

A sensation of oozing movement around her injured arm. Her slime suit! It's helping! But what's it going to do?!

The slime thickens, darkens, turns purple and smooth. Pseudopod tendrils grow from the slime, reaching out to twine around the lever holding the bondage-bars on that side in place.

The slime tendrils pull the lever, and the bondage bars pining her right arm fall away, releasing the painful pressure... and freeing her right arm entirely.

Mira stares at the helpful slime tendrils, and at her free arm as it rapidly heals, and back at the helpful slime tendrils.

I, am the most useless bimbo, ever. Of all time.

The slime slithers and flows and goops its way around her body, helpfully unlatching and unfastening. She pulls up, freeing her nipples from the milking machine with a soft cry.

Maybe it would be smart to wait, and escape at night when no one will notice for a while. Maybe.

She's not going to. She is walking out of this place, right now. Badly hurting her because of careless negligence? Yeah, she's angry.

She feels the slime ooze around her thighs and ankles, unbolting her and unshackling her lower half from the wall. And finally, lastly, it pulls the latch on the wall-gasket, suddenly releasing the pressure around her waist. She slides herself backwards, emerging from the hole ass-first, and stands up.