"Yes Madam. Please Madam," I said, trying to beg, though without the authority to even do that. A guard grasped me from behind when I found my legs unable to move. I was shuffled forward, into the brickwork confinement, and soon forced to turn. The brutal guard took an elbow and guided me backwards until I was straddling the thick horizontal pipe with my crotch and a step later the back of my head touched the dreaded half moon indentation in the back plate.

The guard stepped away from me, looking back with a half smile that told me I was free to move, to run, to duck aside, but also that she knew I'd no spine for such a futile and inevitably painful confrontation.

The front metal plate shifted with a heavy squeal on its bolt, moving relentlessly toward my neck. I looked down at my still clothed body, the front of my skirt ripped from where the pipe had caught on it as I'd moved back from the point at which it ended a few feet in front of my crotch.

"No! Please, Mistress," I begged, losing all modest form as I found myself having to lift my chin to keep from being hit by the closing metal plate. "No!"

"Clank!"

The guard fumbled at the hasp that was well to my right and on the head side of things. She fed a heavy lock through the openings and then closing it tight. Then she went below, working a pair of ankle cuffs into place so that I'd be forced to remain straddled.

Mistress Cloe looked me over, her eyes glancing from my head to my body. There was an amazing sense of detachment knowing that I was up here and also down there, but the two were seemingly not one and the same. What to do with my arms, I wondered, right away, them just floating to my sides. I could touch the pipe in front and back, but if I leaned to grab it fully either front or back, I realized that my head didn't duck with my body beyond the solid confinement of the plate. All of my classmates had faces of masked horror, thinking it maybe their fate to some of this torment as well.

"Very well. So, you all can see how easy it is to find oneself in a compromised position, I assume. We always sacrifice a few of you to this fate, just to set the example and ensure that we are of the same minds as we move onward in our quests for perfection in service. See that none of you forget the ease at which we trim the tree in order to maintain the health of the body of our service personnel.

She turned toward the door, the rest of the class following. I looked around at the other eight heads, them mostly delirious, but following the body of leaving people with as much clear envy as I had. My classmates moved beyond the barred gate, and then passed from view as they returned down the side corridor from which we'd come in. The walls echoed Madam Cloe's words, "Six months is a long time to be thinking about the errors of one's ways, sissy maids. My advice is ." Another security door clanged shut, proof that they were at the next to last security point. ". make a professional, demure, impeccable presence in wherever you find yourself, least you be sent back to us for retraining. Most end up in either of these places for . and then . your pussy . she wants . keep ."

Her words faded, the footsteps gone as well. Across the way I heard the tinkle of a man peeing on his pipe, the piss running off to a puddle at his feet.

I got paranoid. It was overbearing. I yelled, "Please! I've not done anything wrong! I want to work! I want to be a good bimbo maid! Please, somebody! I'm worth a lot of money as a maid. I'll never complain. I see what I am. I want to be a good investment for FemWorld! Can't you see. This isn't a good thing for anybody!" Those were more words than I'd uttered in forever, and totally out of line, but hey, I was in hell and almost mad from claustrophobic impulses.

I started kicking around, banging the pipe with as much fist as my limited reach could muster on the thing. I hit the underside of the metal plate holding my head, but that only made me feel more paranoid, so I stopped, scratching my own skin instead, as if my hands were independent from my brain and trying to test the rest of me for aliveness. In fact, they weren't me. I was just a head!

A guard, startled out of her book reading and card playing by my screams, came in. "Screaming is not allowed, prisoner!" The hose was already charged with water. She needed only to press the handle on the fire-hose nozzle, and a stream of water blasted my body with the force of gallons per second.

One stream caught my clothing, ripping the top off my shoulders and to the side, it was left hanging by a pair of stubborn buttons as the blast's aim traveled downward. My bra twisted and a cup caught the stream full force, ripping the thing from my body entirely. At my feet, the shoes smacked the back wall and clattered into the main aisle with the force of chip shots. The garters straps neatly fell free, followed by the garter snapping off and joining the shoes in the middle of the aisle, one stocking ripped at the knee and most of it went into the flood while the top quarter stretched up like a garter at my upper thigh.

When she was done, my body was beaten and out of breath from the tormenting blast. I had on a third of a single stocking, stretched panties that sagged around the pipe where they were caught by my upper thigh, a skirt that wore mostly like a belt with a dripping back loin cloth, and above that, a second belt of what was left of my blouse.

The whole upper half of me was naked, my huge tits sagging and straining for breath. Below the navel I wore only the garter that was what was left of one stocking. I imagined my body bruised from the water itself. There simply was no strength left for screaming. All of that from half a minute of being hosed.

The guard looked at me for a second to see if I was done protesting, and then sat the hose down, her interest clearly upon the hidden desk around the corner where her book or radio or whatever were there to keep her company over the long haul of babysitting heads and bodies and guys on two foot chains.

The blast of water from the hose had caught the other guy's attention, I noticed, as I recovered my breathing. All but a couple of the more hopeless looked at me with renewed curiosity, as if they'd not even noticed me before; which of course, maybe they hadn't, I guessed, imagining their state of delirium.

Of the eight, five were across the way, and three at angles good enough for them to see into my stall. There was one in the middle, straight across from me. He seemed most interested, once he'd taken a good look at the new head and the other new thing, the naked, stacked, female body. I saw what amounted to a lucid facial twitch or two, and then his hands touched his own four inches of dick and started beating off with a sudden vengeance. I was shocked, never having seen a man masturbate before. Then it struck me that his eyes were locked onto my body. He was beating off to the very first look of my feminine tits and pussy.

Of course, I had no control over the body I wore. It was just there. I grabbed at my blouse, wringing it out as I tried to make sense of its twisted form and pull it around me. The buttons were gone, and the blouse itself ripped in large horizontal tears. The best I could do was turn my blouse around to hide my boy pussy and lay the wet blouse material over my boobs. The fabric clung, and thin as it was, I knew from my old nude looking days on the web that a wet t-shirt was better than naked for helping a man get his rocks off.

As proof, all of my fumbling was having a positive effect on the man across the way, too, his cock having actually grown to a full five inches, and seemingly strained white from the turn-on. Suddenly, a man I'd imagined half dead when first arriving, shot a spurt of cum into the air so high that it hit the underside of his head plate and started dripping back down before the second spurt joined it at pasting the underside of the metal.

I wanted to chide him for his rudeness, but I dared not speak. Then the other two heads that could see me had bodies too, and their hands started stroking their cocks as well. I felt like a stripper on the stage, with the rules being, circle jerks fine!

When they'd cum, the first man started again, his appetite unquenched by the first jack-off, it seemed. His second weak cum took an hour, I guess, but then he just kept it up, me the only thing keeping him sane, I imagined, assuming him not insane, I added to my thought. That's how the next few endless hours went, some men dozing off, others looking around miserably, and others catching the fever and masturbating. Even the guys to my sides got into the act, me telling by the sounds, as if they were seeing me through the eyes of the others across the way. I was a head and a floorshow without the necessary first date meal.

They came in and fed us, a bottle of water that we guzzled and a bottle of broth that our weak stomachs were not ready for, but regarding which we all knew we had to at least try and take in, least we die of starvation. I was a hundred and ten pounds, and though I'd been nano shrunk to well under my male height, I had a quarter of my weight tied up in bouncing knockers the size of volleyballs. I dared not miss a drop of the meal, eating quickly when offered the bottles.

Days passed, me eating, peeing, shitting and sleeping as a head. I'd wake up with my head numb. I felt my bones shifting in socket from the horrible pain of constantly straddling my seat. There was no relief from it; my legs barely held me due to their awkward position and the closeness of the pipe. What had it been, days, weeks, I had no clue. The lights never went off, and counting had been driven to the point of it being numb spots of one, two, three, one, two, threes.

Six months was simply undoable. I woke up one, day, morning, afternoon, evening, whatever, and saw one of the heads a bit too still. When they came in to hose us clean, the body over there under that head banged around a bit too brutally before the Mistress noticed that the man was unresponsive. They came in with chains and dragged him out. Was he dead or sick or what, I had only the clue that I'd not seen a single movement from him throughout the ordeal.

That day, oddly, was the first day I realized that I was completely naked. The last of my clothing had simply been blasted away, and I'd not even noticed when that moment had passed, my mind on numb and pain channels exclusively. I was not a strong girl, I can tell you that, having gone to waste during my lab rat days due to the nanos, and only having gained marginal strength during my days in maid training.

Oh, how I longed to be a maid, able to move about, sleep at night, eat real food, bland as it was; even work seemed a blessing. Everything there in maid school had seemed just a head game, I told myself. This, well, this was hell itself; intended to kill me. I just couldn't do it anymore, I told myself, holding my breath and trying my best to kill myself. I succeeded once, passing out from the attempt, but then waking up struggling for air, betrayed by my own body instincts.

They came and got what was left of 334. He was wheeled out in a barrel, literally. It was still breathing, having grown a nice pair of size B breasts finally, and having lost half his former dick due to the old nanos finally having taken to him well (a bit over an inch, flaccid). But then again, what was to become of the delirious half man, half woman they'd wheeled out, I wondered? Spare parts? A factory drone? Goddess, he'd been so much stronger than me when he'd first been made into a head. I had no chance at all, I understood, fatalistic as one can possibly imagine.

Days more passed, my sense of time only breaths as I awaited death with, oddly, an increasing sense of apathy.

What of my sister, I wondered? My being made into a head had delayed her ability to move, I understood. Of course, she'd forget about me if the meeting time got too hard to pat down. And, of course, she'd not been all that forward about being able to come up with the money. Maybe, I thought, she'd just used that as a bargaining tool? Maybe she did have the willingness to part with what, for her was chump money, and had just been claiming less interest than she actually had, in order to keep the price low, I wondered. Sure, that was it, I thought. A lawyer and all with her, it made sense. Maybe, even, she'd buy me herself and I'd not be here for six months? I was a certified maid, after all, and in that way, purchasable. At the last minute, like the Calvary, she'd ride in here and pluck me to safety, laying me back into the comforting bed of the real world. In exchange for the favor, she'd no doubt make me marry that woman she'd talked to me about before I'd made my fateful decision to vacation at FemWorld.

Unable to cope with the pain of the hated stranger's body that dangled unseen from the real me (a head), I made up all sorts of scenes of that reunion, drinking from it. In time, everything was just a game of thoughts and rescue fantasies. I even matched the strokes, crank for crank, of the perpetual masturbator across the way, it part of my dream-world of a mind unable to focus on the slightest sense of self worth at all.