Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Author: Hoop
Title: Incarceration Ch.11
Part: Chapter 11
Summary: Emma recieves a caning, and some clothespins attached in
uncomfortable places.
Keywords: FF, bd, nc, sad



   The attendants took Emma via a detour before bringing her back to the
cell.  They brought her into a long, narrow room filled with racks of
questionable-looking clothing, and boxes filled with equipment.  She
recognised some of the things from previously.  There were a lot more
devices and bundled-up harnesses, the purposes of which were a mystery.

   "Miss Stanford doesn't want you talking to the others," one of them
said. "Seems to think you'll give them ideas."

   He rummaged around in a plastic storage bin on the floor before placing
a hand under Emma's chin.  The other grabbed her wrists, holding them
behind her.

   "Open wide," he said.

   She managed to put up a bit of resistance.  She knew that truly it was
useless, that it would probably make things harder for her, but she had to
try.  The attendant's legs tangled with her own, and he locked his forearms
over her shoulders, pinning her against him.  She flinched her head away
from the other attendant, who was holding a ball gag in his hands.  A few
more useless kicks and curses were all that she could manage before the
plastic ball was forced into her mouth.  It was more-or-less hollow, a
sphere perforated with holes.  It didn't make her cries quieter, but
deprived her of the ability to form a single coherent word.

   "She wanted something you could wear for the long-term," the attendant
said.  "This kind won't interfere with your breathing at all.  No risk
wearing it while you sleep."

   He clicked a small padlock through a locking loop on the gag's strap, as
if to emphasise the point that it would be staying there for a long time.

   "We're supposed to see to your clothes as well," he said.

   She was wrapped in a strait jacket of white canvas.  The material felt
rough against her skin as they cinched the straps tight behind her, pulling
her arms to hug against her chest.  She wondered about the logistics of
being thus bound for more than a few hours.  As if in answer to her
thoughts, they pulled a diaper up around her waist, before fastening the
crotch-straps of the strait jacket just a little too tight.

   "Good," said the attendant.  He gave her a hard slap on the buttock, but
it was cushioned by the absorbent underwear.  Emma wondered how long she
could hold out before she had to make use of it.  It was going to be a
whole new kind of unpleasant experience.

   Laura was the cell's only other occupant when they brought her back. 
She looked up as Emma was shoved into the room.  Her expression was blank.
Emma leaned against one wall to slide herself slowly down to the floor, and
sat cross-legged.  She sighed, and the breath passed through her porous gag
with a snuffling sound, along with a few flecks of saliva.  Across the
room, Laura was mumbling something.

   "...'m sorry about yesterday," she said.

   There was only so much Emma could do in response.  She widened her eyes
slightly, and raised her shoulders as much as she could in a shrug.

   "We didn't know they were going to do that.  We couldn't know."

   Laura fidgeted.  She seemed to be picking at her nails.

   "They did it to me as well," she said.  "Two men.  This morning."

   Emma wondered if she would be able to speak if she stuck mostly to vowel
sounds.  "ih uog ee uuh", she said.  Apparently not, then.

   Claire was returned a few hours later.  She was dressed in the same way
as Laura, white panties and a camisole.  They tried to include Emma when
they talked, asking her yes-or-no questions.  Their speculations about what
would happen next, and why any of it was happening at all, were punctuated
with long stints of silence.

   They were brought food towards what felt like night time - none of them
had seen the outside world for a while now, and were relying on their own
circadian rhythms and the assumption that this place operated with a
vaguely sane timetable.  Laura and Claire were given stainless steel bowls
filled with something bland and easily mass-producible in large tureens. 
Claire was given a juice carton, Laura a cup of room-temperature water. 
The attendants who brought the food had also left a bottle of water on the
floor by Emma.  The girls had to help her drink it, carefully pouring it
into her mouth, giving her time to swallow, which was extremely awkward
with her head tilted back, jaws wedged open.

   The girls were left alone after that.  Both Claire and Laura lay beneath
their blankets silently.  Claire was the first to drift asleep, the sound
of her breathing becoming deep and even.  Laura was considerably less
restful, curling up with her knees against her chest.  From the back it
looked like she was shivering, it was difficult to make out in the dimmed
light.  She was mostly silent.

   Emma lay on her side, head resting on a bundled up blanket that Claire
had arranged for her.  She had held out this long, but there was no chance
that she would sleep until she attended to her body's urges.  Her bladder
ached terribly.  Tears of helpless anger ran down her face as she was
forced to surrender, and a warm patch spread beneath her crotch.  An hour
later she finally fell asleep, feeling cold and clammy between her legs.

   --

   "Up!  Time to get up!"

   The familiar, hated voice.  Emma rolled on to her back, feeling her
muscles protesting at the length of time they had been constrained.  Her
stomach prickled from the lack of food.  Her jaw was stiff.  The plastic
ball in her mouth was actually more uncomfortable than the other gags,
which tended to be made from more yielding material.  She looked up to see
Helen standing over her.  Across the room, the other two were getting to
their feet.

   "I bet you're wondering how Zoe's turned out," said Helen.  She sounded
genuinely excited.  It was sickening.  "Let's have a look," she said.

   Sleep had done nothing for Emma - she was still groggy, her whole body
felt weighed down.  She was barely able to keep pace with the pair of
attendants who were escorting her, one at each arm.  Laura and Claire
seemed to be walking of their own accords.

   Another room with a bed, the same kind as yesterday's.  Emma wondered
about the anonymous girl she had been induced to fuck in that room -
whether she was kept on her own, or maybe there was another group of four,
like theirs.  There was no way to guess just how many girls were imprisoned
here.  The one here was recogniseable as Zoe.  Much of her face was hidden
behind a black eye-mask, and her mouth was straining around a perforated
ball-gag, the same kind that Emma wore.  She was held down to the bed by
elastic straps pulled across her body, bound up in a strait jacket of some
black, shiny material.

   The girl looked to be a complete mess.  Her face was wet from
perspiration, and from the tears that had made their way out from under her
blindfold.  Trails of drool glistened at either corner of her mouth.  She
was sobbing weakly.

   "Ah, of course," said Helen, turning to look at Emma, "you weren't here
when we put her under.  "She finally has a number.  271," she said.  "She's
just like the rest of you now.  Let's see what the effects have been from
271's medication."

   Helen pulled the strips of sticky tape from the girl's head, releasing
the earphones that they had held in to her ears.  At this, the girl
strained her head to one side, and started to make noises through her gag.
Helen slid the blindfold up to the girl's forehead and then removed it. 
Zoe squinted.  Her eyes were gradually adjusting to the light as Helen
unfastened the straps that held her down, and then supported Zoe with one
arm behind her back as she pulled her into a sitting position on the edge
of the bed.

   It looked like whatever happened to Zoe had had a serious effect.  Her
expression wasn't entirely normal, her eyes focussed at infinity beneath
drooping eyelids.  Helen freed her of her ball gag, and her mouth hung open
vacantly.  A few seconds later she looked up at Helen, blinking.  She said
nothing.

   "Welcome back, 271," said Helen.  She held Zoe's chin, her thumb against
the girl's cheek.  "That's who you are, now.  Two-seven-one.  Say it."

   Zoe was shaking her head slowly.  Her brow furrowed.  Her lip quivered
ever so slightly.

   "Say it," Helen whispered.

   "T-tuh-two-seven one," said Zoe.

   "Yes," said Helen.  "That's right.  Good girl."

   "Standard scrub-down for 271," said Helen to the attendants. 
"Although..." her mouth shifted around as she considered something. 
"Actually, she's probably had enough trauma for now.  Use warm water.  Oh,
and get one of the soft towels.  Dress her like these two when she's done.
And she'll need feeding.  Use one of the tubes if you need to."

   The attendant picked Zoe off the bed by her armpits.  "Anything else?"
he said.

   "That will be all," said Helen.

   "I expect you need feeding too, 641," she sighed.

   Emma was feeling very singled-out.  Claire and Laura were given their
own bowls of food, and utensils to eat with.  After making her agree not to
say a word, Helen had removed Emma's gag and placed a plate in front of
her. The most liquid parts of a cooked breakfast were present: baked beans,
and a clump of bright, synthetically-yellow scrambled egg.  With her arms
bound up, she was obliged to lean down and eat her meal directly off the
plate.  Her hunger outweighed any refusal she might have had out of
principle.

   "You can eat using cutlery once you start behaving better," Helen told
her.

   The gag went back in right after she was finished.  Helen had made the
other two girls watch while an attendant changed Emma's diaper, and then
they had been led away, leaving her alone with Helen.

   "Number 641," she said.  "I hear you were quite disobedient after your
session yesterday.  I hear that you said some rather unpleasant things to
the attendants." She dabbed at Emma's face with a napkin to remove the
worst of the mess left by her food.  "You need to start being a bit more
compliant," she said.  "I think I know what we can do about that."

   Some time later, Emma was freed from her strait jacket as her limbs were
transferred to other forms of restraint.  She recognised the room she had
been taken to - the bank of computer monitors was folded out this time,
each screen a turbulent static square.  They were arranged to face her as
she stood with her legs apart, anchored to the floor with steel shackles
and chains.  Her wrists were manacled together above her head; another
chain linked them to the ceiling.  Her legs were trembling, her belly taut
as she hung naked and stretched out between the restraints.  Helen stood
between her and the computer screens, holding either end of a long cane
between her fingertips, flexing it slightly.

   She ungagged her.  "You will speak only when told to, 641," she said.

   Emma was not going to let herself become like the other girls.  It
seemed like Claire was giving up, and by the looks of things, Zoe was well
on her way too.  She was stronger than that.  She resolved to act before
she had time to consider all the possible consequences for what she was
about to do.



   "Fuck you," she spat.

   Helen's expression remained composed, but a twitch of her eyelid gave
her away.  She took a deep breath through her nose, letting it out in a
slow sigh before offering a response.

   "No, that's not how you talk to me, 641."

   She brought the cane to rest against the upper surface of Emma's
breasts, and let it sit there for a few seconds.  Emma felt her breath
quickening in anticipation.  She hated herself for the lack of self
control.

   The cane jerked up, and returned with a swish as it cut through the air.
There was a loud smack as it made its mark across Emma's chest, and she
cried out at pain that nothing could have prepared her for.  Helen lifted
it away, allowing Emma a good view as the red welt gradually formed on her
milky skin.  A pair of raised ridges, inflamed an angry pink colour,
throbbed across her bust.

   "You will speak," Helen repeated, "only when told to, 641.  Understood?"

   The pain had subsided slightly.  The sudden sting was on its way to
becoming a dull throb.  Emma wondered if the next blow would fall in the
same place.  She gritted her teeth.

   "I- is that all you-" her attempt at insolence turned into a squeal as
the cane cracked against the taut skin of her abdomen, scoring a thin line.
Helen seemed to be having trouble maintaining her normal, neutral
expression.  "Well, now it looks like we'll need to establish a baseline of
pain before we start the exercise," she said.  "You had your chance to
redeem yourself, 641."

   The gag was returned to her mouth.  Emma tried to push it out with her
tongue, but it was secured too tightly.  The straps chafed at the edges of
her lips.  Helen paced around behind her, running the thin length of the
cane between her fingers.

   The first blow landed on the back of Emma's thighs, a single, stinging
line.  She managed not to cry out.  The second cracked against her skin a
couple of inches further up, and the third brought a searing bloom of pain
to spread across her buttocks.  The last one was too much, her eyes were
screwed tightly shut as she moaned at the pain.

   "What's that?" said Helen.  "Oh, it seems you'll be unable to tell me
when you want me to stop.  I suppose I'll have to be the judge of when
you've had enough." The swishing noise came once more, and another
punishing blow landed precisely on top of where the last one had come.  A
few more strokes on her thighs, and then Helen walked around to her front
again.  Emma had hung her head back to stare at the ceiling, as if
something up there could save her.  Helen grabbed a fistful of her white
hair and yanked her head forward, bringing her face-to-face.  A strand of
dribble descended from Emma's wet lips, and ran down between her breasts.

   "Want me to stop?" said Helen.

   "Uuh."

   "Didn't quite catch that," she said.  She cupped beneath Emma's breast
with one hand, stroking the cane over the upper side.  There was a
prickling sensation as it passed over the mark left by the first strike.

   "Aah".

   The cane swished as it came down.  Emma jerked with the pain.

   "Are you going to be a good girl for the rest of our time together?"
said Helen.

   Emma was starting to weigh her options.  The pain from each blow was
starting to accumulate; agonising stripes were pulsing on many parts of her
body now.  Unsatisfied with the delay of her answer, Helen brought the cane
in an arc from the front, cracking it just above Emma's nipples.

   "Well?" she said.

   "Eeah," Emma attempted.

   "Oh," said Helen.  "That sounded like an agreement to me." She paced
around behind Emma once more.  "But I think you're just telling me the
things that I want to hear."

   Swish.  Crack.  Emma choked out another scream.  Her throat was aching,
her eyes were stinging and watery.

   "I need to know," (another strike across the back of her thighs), "that
your answer," (a second impact against her buttocks), "is sincere." Helen
finished by bringing the cane down between Emma's shoulder blades. 
Apparently the pain was having some numbing effect on her thighs, because
the last blow hurt her much more than the others.  Emma couldn't help
herself from producing a long, plaintive cry.  Her vision blurred with her
tears.  It even worse was that Helen would be able to see that she was
crying.  Indeed, a smile broke across her face as she paced back around to
rest the tip of her cane beneath Emma's chin.

   "Looks like I'm starting to get through to you," she said.

   She allowed Emma to hang there for a few minutes.  She was eventually
able to stem the flow of her tears, although it was too late to avoid
giving Helen the satisfaction of seeing them.  When she returned to her,
she was holding a handful of wooden clothespins.  She pinched one between
her thumb and forefinger, opening and closing it in front of Emma's face.

   "We're going to have some fun with these," she said.  She tweaked Emma's
left nipple between her fingers, pulling it outwards.  The clothespin was
brought around it, and Helen released her grip to allow its blunt, wooden
jaws to bite down into soft areola.  It was a less urgent kind of pain -
not so intense, but persistent.  Her breast started to throb, and was soon
joined by the other as Helen clipped on a second clothespin.  She knelt
down in front of Emma, who started to make soft pleading noises as she
realised where the next ones would be placed.

   A second pair pinched at the skin of her inner thighs.  Emma had never
considered that to be a particularly sensitive area, but the horrible pain
was proving her wrong.  Helen stood up to fetch a pair of examination
gloves.  She pulled the stretchy white latex over her hands before using a
pair of fingers to spread Emma's pussy.  The fifth clothespin bit savagely
into one of Emma's lower lips, eclipsing the pain from all the rest.  Helen
attached four of them in total, each one hanging down from her labia like
parasites biting into her skin.  Emma thrashed her head side-to-side, eyes
shut, trying to find some other form of release or distraction.  She
breathed out and heard herself squealing with the agony of it.  Helen
waited for her noises to abate.

   "Here's how it's going to work, 641.  The sooner we finish this
exercise, the sooner you can lose the clothespins.  If you don't want to
co-operate, I'm more than happy to use this cane a little more. 
Understood?"

   Emma's head hung between her shoulders.

   "UNDERSTOOD?"

   She nodded weakly.

   She closed her mouth after Helen removed the ball gag, and remained
mostly silent, apart from the occasional whimper.  Helen was tapping around
on her computer, which caused the central screen of the monitor bank in
front of Emma to change from static snow to pure black.  The letters "EXT1"
glowed in one corner, beside a square with an arrow in it.

   "You will see words on this screen," said Helen.  "All that you have to
do is read them out to me in a nice, clear voice." She tapped once more at
her computer, and laid it on the bench at the side of the room.  She stood
behind Emma, off to one side.  The first sentence emerged on to the screen,
a letter at a time.  'I am a slave,' it read.

   She didn't want to say it.  The hesitation earned her a cane-stroke
across her shoulder blades, and her cries were much clearer with her mouth
unobstructed.

   "Come on, 641!"

   "...I'm a slave," she mumbled.

   "Like you mean it!" Swish.  Crack.  Another scream that Emma had no
control over.  The text on the screen glowed in front of her.

   "I am a slave!" Emma read the words, desperation in her voice.  The cane
remained resting across Helen's palm.  The sentence changed, and words
started to appear on the peripheral screens as well, the words "SUBMIT,"
"OBEY," pulsated in an industrial typeface.

   "I...  I won't!" said Emma.  "No!  No..."

   There were a great deal of painful cries after that, as Helen rained
down the blows upon her buttocks and thighs, hardly breaking pace as she
changed sides to continue the onslaught against her breasts and abdomen. 
The writing changed several times, ignored by her at first, and then she
started screaming the words in the hope that it would stop her suffering.

   "I am nothing!" she narrated from the screen.  "My body is not my own.
It belongs to my mistress." She had to pause to let out a sob.  She
sniffled.  The cane-strokes had ceased, though.

   "I give myself to her," she continued, her voice trembling.  "The whole
of my body and my mind belongs to her.  I am her slave," the words changed
and she whimpered as the new sentence typed itself across the blank square,
"...and she..."

   "Last bit, 641.  You can do it."

   "...  and she may to do me whatever she pleases," said Emma.

   The screen was blank after that.  Emma hung limp in exhausted defeat,
her whole body wracked with the pain of countless red stripes across
porcelain-white skin.  She felt the clothespin removed from her left
nipple, but this only caused the type of pain to change.  It actually hurt
more coming off.  A dark red mark remained where it had clamped down into
her flesh.

   "It wasn't that hard after all, was it, 641?"

   Emma supposed she wanted her to agree.  Her reply came as a sob anyway.

   "Seven more clothespins to go," said Helen.  "You lose one for each time
you complete the whole recitation."

   She made her start from the beginning if she stumbled or hesitated. 
After the third run-through, some of the words were omitted from the
screen, forcing Emma to recall them from memory.  With one last clothespin
hanging between her legs, she recited the creed in full.

   "I am nothing.  My body is not my own.  It belongs to my mistress.  I
give myself to her.  The whole of my body and my mind belongs to her.  I am
her slave, and she may do to me whatever she pleases."

   "Good," said Helen.  "Good."

   She kissed Emma on the cheek.  "I knew you could do it," she said.

   Helen left her alone for a while after that, with some of words she had
been forced to speak appearing at random on the monitors.  A single
attendant came in to the room with a first-aid kit, and spent half an hour
tending to the marks left on Emma's skin, applying antiseptic gel that felt
cool on her skin, and mercifully seemed to have some kind of numbing
effect. Her body was covered in bandage wrappings, strips of cloth
criss-crossing over her breasts and concealing the red weals across her
back.  Her thighs ended up completely swathed.  The attendant dressed her
in the same undergarments Claire and Laura had been wearing; she was too
weakened to even try and resist when he unshackled her wrists.

   The cell was quiet when she was brought back.  None of the other girls
seemed to even be making the effort to try and talk.  Claire was curled up
on her side, asleep.  Laura sat against the back wall, chewing at her
fingernails.  Zoe was lying with her arms and legs spread out, unrestrained
for the first time in a whole day.  She was gazing at the ceiling.

   Emma joined them.  Her bruised flesh ached as she sat down.  She
wondered how long they'd be left alone this time.