The inmate laughs cruelly and squeezes your arm harder, forcing you to wince in pain. "You're going to be sorry you ever tried to fight me," he growls, leaning down closer to whisper into your ear. "But don't worry, I'm gonna make it hurt real good for you." He grabs the hem of your crop top and roughly yanks it up over your head, revealing your small breasts bound in a plain white sports bra.

The inmate grins viciously as he sees your helplessness, his eyes alight with a twisted lust. He tears off your skirt and underwear in one rough motion, leaving you completely naked except for the pathetic sports bra binding your chest. With a low growl, he drops to his knees between your legs, reaching up to roughly grab at your breast through the flimsy fabric. "Let's see what else we can do with you," he says, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine.

The surgeons take turns violating your prostate, their fingers relentless in their quest to find the right spot. Your body tenses and spasms as you approach climax, but they don't stop until you explode, shooting hot, sticky cum across the sterile operating table. "Ah," one of them murmurs appreciatively, "that's what we like to see." They continue their exam, seemingly oblivious to the pain and humiliation they're inflicting upon you.

The surgeons continue their invasive procedures with little regard for your cries of pain and protests of discomfort. They see you as nothing more than a plaything for their twisted pleasures, a mere object to be manipulated and abused at their will. As the minutes turn into hours, the exhaustion and agony begin to take their toll on your body, leaving you a limp, aching mess. The only thing that seems to matter to them is the gratification they get from seeing you suffer.