Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Author: Hoop
Title: Incarceration Ch.22
Part: Chapter 22
Summary: Claire gets a brief visit to sens-dep, then Helen cleans her
and dresses her up for a session with four clients, after some fellatio
training.
Keywords: FF, MF, bd, nc, oral, sad



   The day's torments seemed to have finally come to an end.  Since the
return of Laura and Emma, the girls had sat mostly in silence.  Emma sulked
in a corner, hugging her knees to her chest.  Laura chose to lie down, and
Claire did her best to console her during a brief, but very expressive bout
of crying.  She was just beginning to regain her composure, sniffling
miserably, when an attendant brought the evening's food to their room on a
plastic tray: three bowls filled with a mixture of rice and vegetables. 
There was also a single cup of chocolate pudding with a label on its lid,
the number "314" written in blue ink.

   "I guess we know who's her favourite," said Emma.

   "You don't exactly make it easy for yourself."

   "What," she scowled at Laura, "you think we should just give up
resisting altogether?"

   "You've seen how she is...  what she did to you.  I mean, there's no
real point in making her angry."

   "So what?  You're just going to give up?  For Christ's sake, Laura, we
don't know how long we're going to be here!  You'd put up with this shit
for a month?  A year?"

   "Until there's some way to get out...  I mean, we can just pretend to be
cooperative.  Helen must have some eventual outcome in mind, it's not like
she'll keep us here forever.  There's got to be some reason."

   "You think?  'Cause I'm not so sure, maybe she's just some insane bitch
who enjoys torturing other girls for no fucking reason whatsoever.  And you
certainly seemed to be 'pretending' pretty enthusiastically before," she
added.

   "What else is there to do, though?  I mean, I don't want to get caned or
something.  If we can avoid it, why shouldn't we?"

   "But you're letting her get inside your head!  Don't you get it? 
There's only a certain amount of time before 'pretending' actually becomes
what you really think!  Claire, you saw that girl 212, you don't want to
end up like that, right?"

   "Well...  no, I guess not."

   "What about when you called her 'mistress', then?" Laura retorted. 
"Seems a bit submissive for someone who's supposed to be resisting as hard
as she can."

   "It's just a word, Laura.  You'd have said anything too, with this
around your neck." She gestured to the collar.

   Her point was emphasised quite well as the collar let out a buzzing
noise.  Emma clutched at her throat, gritting her teeth with the pain.  She
was trying to get her fingers under the collar to pull it away from her
skin, but it was too rigid for that to work.  A few moments later the
discharge ceased.  Emma croaked.

   "That was too well-timed," she said.  "I bet she's on her way."

   Her speculation was verified as the door swung open.  Helen was
accompanied by one attendant, who stepped into the cell and pulled Emma to
her feet by her hair.

   "A reasonable assumption, 641.  Although I'd have thought you'd realise
that it's trivial to incorporate a little microphone into such a
sophisticated gadget.  Seems like you were having quite an interesting
conversation just now."

   Emma's response was succinct and eloquent.

   "Oh, shit."

   "Yes," said Helen, "exactly."

   She walked over to the other girls while the attendant snapped handcuffs
around Emma's wrists.  She gasped with the pain as another pair of cuffs
were fastened further up her arms, causing her elbows to touch.  The
attendant grabbed her around a bicep and pulled her upright, forcing her to
balance on her toes.

   "I'm not going to have you poison the minds of my other girls with your
words," said Helen.  She placed a hand on Claire's head, and stroked her
hair as if she were some kind of pet.  Claire didn't resist.  "I'm
disappointed, 641.  I thought I was starting to get through to you.  But
there are certain other things I can try.  I'm not going to give up on
you."

   She bent down to pick up one of the bowls from the floor.  "If I were
being extra harsh, I wouldn't let you eat this now.  But we need to keep
you healthy.  And you'll need some energy for tomorrow."

   She handed the bowl to the attendant.  "Have this liquidised.  Then feed
it to her.  She can spend the night in sens-dep.  Oh, but let's not make it
an entirely sensory-deprived experience," she said, a grin spreading across
her face.  The ever-present computer tablet was brought out, and Helen used
it to make some adjustments.  "There we are.  Randomly-determined shock
timing and intensity.  I guess it should average to, oh...  maybe once
every half hour or so?"

   Emma screwed her eyes shut and grunted.

   "Actually, that was me that time," said Helen.  She giggled.  It was a
disturbing sound.  "Have a good night, 641!"

   Emma was hauled away.  Helen crouched down to bring herself to eye level
with Laura, who had remained sitting throughout the whole episode.

   "Think very carefully about what she said to you, 523.  You're doing
well so far.  Don't get any stupid ideas.  You understand?"

   Laura nodded.

   "Good," she said.  "Well, you girls be sure to eat all your food.  I
don't want to see any leftovers!"

   With that, she left.  The two remaining girls ate in silence.  They
shared the dessert, which was surprisingly palatable.  Laura wasn't quite
so tired, having enjoyed a post-drug nap during the afternoon, and so
Claire was the first to go to sleep.  She was vaguely troubled by Laura's
quiet weeping as she drifted off, but then the exhaustion of the day took
over completely, and dragged her into a deep slumber.

   --

   "Augh!"

   Claire was awoken by Laura's surprised cry of pain.  She rolled over to
see the girl standing up, one hand clasped over her buttock.  Helen was
standing over the vacated pile of bedding, a cattle prod in her hand.

   "Morning, 523!" she said.

   "What was that for?"

   "For sleeping so late.  It's past ten, you know.  Anyway, you're coming
with me.  I need to make you nice and clean for a meeting with some more
clients."

   She took Laura by the wrist, but the girl hesitated a moment.  She
clenched her thighs nervously.

   "Oh, right, you should probably pee first."

   Claire afforded her the courtesy of looking away.  Helen, however,
watched expectantly as Laura sat on the cell's toilet, and went about her
business after a long, uncomfortable silence that was eventually broken by
the metallic patter of urine against stainless steel.

   The pair left the room, and some time later Claire was brought her
breakfast, a bowl of porridge with a blob of bright red jam half-stirred
into the thick mixture.  As she ate, she wondered what was happening to Zoe
and Emma, and whether Helen would be equally as harsh with her if she
disobeyed - she could guess what 'sens-dep' meant, and it sounded like
something she definitely wanted to avoid.

   Being confined to the cell without anybody else to talk to was
excruciatingly tedious.  Counting each individual foam cell on the room's
padded surfaces took depressingly little time, depriving her of one more
activity to stave off complete mental stagnation.  She was scraping the
remains in her breakfast bowl into spiralling patterns when Helen returned.

   "You look like you're having fun," she said.

   Claire put the utensils down.

   "Maybe I need to schedule some more activities for you," said Helen, "to
stop you getting so bored.  Anyway, it turns out I need you for something
now.  Come."

   Claire stood.  She came within reach of Helen, who grabbed her by the
arm and twisted it in a way that forced her slowly, but inevitably, down to
the floor.  She felt a hand against the still-sensitive skin from where she
had received her tattoo, and there was the sound of the dressing being
peeled away.

   "Very nice," said Helen.  "Nice and neat.  Have a look."

   Claire twisted her head around awkwardly.  It was impossible to get a
decent view, but she could clearly see the tops of the neat-edged numbers
inked into her skin, permanently denoting her as number 314.  The
surrounding flesh was still a little pink.

   Whilst Helen's treatment hadn't been quite so rough in recent days,
apparently that didn't correspond to any reduction in the strictness of
Claire's restraints - before they left, Helen secured some kind of girdle
around her hips, with a strap that looped down between her legs that she
fastened far tighter than necessary.  The device bore metal D-rings which
Helen used to bind her wrists to her waist by a pair of cuffs, and a second
pair were fastened around her ankles, linked to the wrist-cuffs with
lengths of thin chain.

   She staggered along behind Helen as she pulled her down the corridor by
one of the chains.  "I hadn't actually planned for you to be doing this
today," she explained, "but I think you're ready.  And, well, there were
problems with the other girl I had in mind.  In fact, I'll show you."

   An elevator brought them to the basement level.  A pair of right turns
took them into a stretch of dimly-lit corridor, blocked halfway down by a
haphazard pile of furniture and boxes, some lying on their sides in snow
drifts of styrofoam peanuts.  Just before the pile of junk was a door of
heavy-duty construction, all plate steel and bolts as thick as Claire's
thumb.  Letters stamped into a metal sign declared the room, all in
capitals, as "SENSORY DEPRIVATION".  Helen had to lean against the door to
open it.

   She turned back to Claire, placing a finger over her lips, and spoke in
a soft tone.

   "Keep your voice down," she said.  "Remember that I could just change my
mind, and leave you here if you misbehave.  Anyway, I want you to see
this."

   She led Claire inside, kicking the door closed behind them.  It caught
itself at the last moment on some kind of pneumatic piston, and completed
the last few inches of its arc at a crawling pace, closing soundlessly. 
The room within was dimly-lit by fluorescent strips that shed cold, blue
light on padded walls.  The space was split into two parts: a six-foot wide
passage led forward from the door for about three yards, where it
terminated in a sort of gate - a partition about three feet high.  Beyond
that, the room opened up into a larger version of the cell the girls
shared, square, perhaps eight yards to a side.

   There were three girls inside.  Claire could identify the nearest one as
Emma only by her white hair - most of her face was hidden, either by the
blindfold over her eyes, or the leather muzzle that covered her mouth and
cheeks, held in place with four different straps behind her head and under
her chin.  Her ears were covered with industrial-grade ear defenders, the
kind that could dull the sound of a pneumatic drill.  Emma's arms were
crossed over her belly, the sleeves of a straitjacket holding them in
place, fastened together at the small of her back.  The puffy material of a
diaper bulged around the straitjacket's crotch-strap.  Her feet, clad in
what looked like several pairs of thick, white socks, were bound together
with cuffs in a way that forced her to keep her legs loosely crossed.  She
was rocking back and forth on the floor, shaking her head every so often.

   "This is what happens," said Helen, "if you really piss me off." She
opened the partition and stepped into the larger area, pulling Claire with
her.  From the inside she could see that it was lined with the same
material as the rest of the walls, with no obvious features denoting it as
a door to someone who might be trying to feel around for one blindly.

   Helen stood over one of the other girls.  Her face was concealed
completely, her head covered with a canvas hood whose only feature was a
few grommeted holes for her to breathe through.  Helen put her foot against
the girl's shoulder and pushed her over onto her back, where she began to
writhe helplessly.  She reminded Claire of a tortoise laid on its back,
unable to right itself.

   "This is number 161," said Helen, still keeping her voice low.  "Who
you'll be filling in for today."

   She took out her cattle prod, and placed its prongs against the small
bit of bared neck between the girl's hood and her straitjacket.  There was
a vicious little clicking noise, and the girl let out a helpless, muffled
cry.  Her wriggling became more energetic, although she didn't succeed in
actually moving anywhere.  Helen stepped around her and rested the prongs
of the cattle prod against the girl's thigh.  This time, she knew what was
coming, and made a pleading whine before the implement was discharged
again, causing her to give another muted shriek.

   Helen teased the helpless, squirming girl, sometimes resting the prongs
against her but not actually shocking her, then moving around to the other
side to jab her suddenly.  By rolling on to her front, the girl actually
managed to wriggle about a foot away from Helen, before she was returned to
her face-up position with a gentle kick.  Helen pulled the sock from one of
her feet and placed the prod against the sole of her foot, giving her a
long time to consider it.  The girl's chest was shaking now, the shuddering
rhythm of muffled noises suggestive of sobbing.  The shock to her exposed
foot, when finally delivered, had her arching her back and squealing.  Emma
seemed to have sensed that something in the room had changed - she had
raised her head and was looking around blindly, murmuring something through
her gag.  Meanwhile, the third girl had found a corner to lean against,
resting her head there with her neck at an odd angle.  She shuffled around,
trying to find a less uncomfortable position.  Apparently this was
unacceptable to Helen, who dragged the girl back to the room's centre and
spun her around a few times before shoving her down on to her side.

   Eventually, she seemed to tire of torturing the helpless girls.  Claire
squinted at the light of the corridor as they exited.  The door closed
soundlessly behind them.

   "I don't know exactly what it feels like for them," Helen said.  "I
could guess.  There's a little bit out there if you read the literature. 
But I don't think anybody's investigated pairing that sort of treatment
with electro-shock therapy, for example." She held up the prod, as if
inspecting it.

   "I hear it can make time feel like it's going really slowly," she
continued.  "There are some people who say your brain conjures up things
for you to sense, in the absence of any external stimulus.  Maybe it seizes
on things like this when they happen," she said, making a spark jump
between the prongs to illustrate her point.  "What if their brain, so
desperate to sense something, amplifies the experience?  That'd be kind of
neat.  Anyway, whatever happens, I do know it's effective."

   Claire was brought back to the lift.  She had been too taken aback to
say anything so far.  There was a weird, tight feeling in her chest.  Her
throat was aching.  The sight of what was happening to the girls in the
room made her want to cry.

   "We left a girl in there for a week, one time," said Helen.  The lift
doors closed, and the calm, robotic voice announced their departure.  "I
think that's the upper limit for how long you can leave someone like that.
What a change, though!"

   Claire bit down hard on her lip, trying to stop it from trembling quite
so much.

   "Before it, she was completely disobedient.  I mean, I could cane her
for an hour and she'd still be cursing at me.  But afterwards..." Helen
paused to giggle to herself.  "I think she even forgot how to speak for a
little while.  It was incredible.  You could do things to her and she
wouldn't even react.  Just fascinating, really.  Like her mind was
somewhere else."

   The enthusiasm of her description was making Claire feel ill.  She hung
behind Helen while she was pulled down the corridor, which meant Helen
didn't see the few tears she allowed herself to shed.  She was brought to
the familiar shower room.  Even though she knew exactly what to expect, it
was still a horrible shock to her body every time the attendants turned the
hose of icy-cold water against her.

   Today seemed different, though.  Helen herself was donning the plastic
apron and black rubber gauntlets.  She began to unfasten Claire's
restraints.

   "Now, you can either behave and stay still," she said, "Or I can go and
get an attendant to stand and watch, and the outcome will be exactly the
same.  What's it going to be?"

   "I- I'll behave."

   "Good girl." The restriction around Claire's more intimate areas finally
disappeared as Helen finished removing the restraints.A "Arms up."

   Claire raised her arms, and Helen pulled her one-piece garment up over
her head, leaving her nude.

   "Sit down in the middle of the floor, by the drain."

   She waited there, with her legs folded beneath her, while Helen filled
an orange plastic bucket from a pair of taps on the wall.  They were both
running, and she seemed to be testing the water with her hand.  That might
be a good sign, although Claire didn't want to be too optimistic about the
water's temperature, in case Helen was about to clean her with scalding hot
detergent, or something else unpleasant.  Helen squeezed some of the usual
soap into the bucket, and dropped a sponge into it.  Then she came over to
sit behind Claire, and set the bucket on the floor.  She took Claire's hand
in her own and held her arm out horizontally, beginning the cleaning by
scrubbing under her arms and around her neck.

   To Claire's cautious relief, the water was pleasantly warm.  Helen
worked along her arm with the sponge before coming back to scrub her chest
and her belly with foamy suds.  Then the other arm, and downwards to
thoroughly clean her back with a comprehensive pattern of circling motions.
She had Claire stand, and Helen remained on the floor to work her way down
each of her thighs, lifting Claire's feet up carefully and meticulously
cleaning between each individual toe.  There was a sting as the sponge
rubbed over the newly-tattooed skin of her behind, but the pain was nothing
compared to the previous day.

   "You've got good skin, you know," said Helen.  "Nice and clear.  Not too
many freckles."

   She stood up to retrieve some more soap.  Claire was caught a little
off-guard as half the bucket of water was tipped over her head, followed by
the cold feeling of a blob of shampoo squeezed onto her scalp.

   "Might want to keep your eyes closed."

   The attendants never made a particular effort to clean the girls' hair.
The feeling of Helen's fingers against her scalp was actually quite nice,
although she'd never dare tell anyone that was how she felt.  Being handled
in this manner - firmly, but not roughly, was almost reassuring.  Clare
wasn't sure whether it was okay to feel that way.  Even disregarding those
strange emotions, she had to admit that this treatment was certainly better
than having the dirt blasted off her by two burly men with a hose.

   She relaxed, and allowed the cleaning to continue.  A certain amount of
drowsiness had crept over her by the time Helen had finished, from which
Claire was roused by the remainder of the water splashing down on top of
her.  Helen had her stand again.  Claire flinched away when she fetched the
hose, but the water came out reasonably warm, and at less than car-wash
intensity.  Helen seemed to be very intent on rinsing the area between
Claire's legs.  She covered herself, and shied away from the stream of
water.

   She dried herself with the towel that Helen handed to her, and wrapped
herself in it when she was finished, as instructed.  She was led off to the
equipment room after that, where Helen sat her down on a swivel chair in
front of a full-length mirror.  She fetched a hair dryer from somewhere,
and stood behind Claire while she carefully combed and untangled the
blonde, towel-dried mess into neat, straight bangs.  Claire spent most of
the time looking either at the floor, or at her hands clasped in her lap.
The one time she had looked at Helen's reflection in the mirror, she had
been more than a little unnerved by the girl's serene half-grin, teeth just
visible as she combed and stroked her hair.  She went to rummage through
the wardrobes at the room's far end and returned holding a pair of dresses,
both of them adorned with far too many frills and lacy bits.

   "Now," said Helen, grinning, "let's get you dressed."

   The towel was removed.  Claire felt a bit better once certain parts were
covered with a pair of white cotton panties and a simple bra, and then
Helen began a long process of deliberation as she held up various garments
in front of her and considered them.  At last, she decided on a black
dress, which was puffed out around Claire's thighs by a white, lacy
petticoat.  Its sleeves covered her upper arms halfway, terminated in
frills.  It was a pretty garment, if rather Victorian.  The outfit was
completed with the addition of white stockings, and a pair of black leather
ankle boots that, in Claire's opinion, were too bulky - she wasn't about to
start criticizing Helen's choices, though.

   While Helen went to search for something else, a few moments passed
where Claire was surprisingly free of negative thoughts.  She was neither
hungry, nor tired.  She'd had a warm shower, and clean clothes.  She was
almost at the point of thinking things might not be so bad when Helen came
back from the end of the room, and Claire was reminded about all the
unpleasant things that might happen during her stay here.  The reminder
took the form of a strap-on rubber cock, which Helen had attached to
crotch. She stood behind Claire, placing her hands on her shoulders.  She
could feel the tip of the strap-on poking into her back.

   "About what you'll be doing today," she said.  "I think it's best that
we have a little practice first.  Just you and me."

   Helen took Claire's hand and pulled her to her feet, before sitting down
on the chair.  She indicated that Claire should kneel, and she did so, her
skirts spreading out around her on the floor.  The dildo rested on the edge
of the seat, pointed at her face like a weapon.

   "So tell me, 314.  How many cocks have you sucked?"

   Claire looked down, fidgeting with her hands.

   "Two," she said.

   "Hmph.  Well, I suppose some experience isn't a bad thing," said Helen.
"I do prefer it when my girls are pure, though.  Untainted.  Did you do it
often?"

   "N-not really."

   "How many times?" she hissed, grabbing a handful of Claire's hair and
pulling her head back.

   "I don't know...  five or six?  Y-you're hurting me," she said, hoping
that it would make Helen release her still-tightening grip.  She did so,
before tapping her finger on her lips awhile in thought.

   "I suppose that can be tolerated," she said, finally.  "Now, show me how
good you are at it."

   Helen put her hand at the base of the dildo and angled it upwards.  Her
other hand, on the back of Claire's head, encouraged her towards it.

   "Open wide," she said.

   Claire took the dildo into her mouth.  It had a slight taste of
disinfectant.  She closed her lips around it, and raised her eyes to look
up at Helen and receive her next instruction.

   "Go ahead," she said.  "Show me what you can do."

   It felt strange to be fellating a fake, rubbery cock.  It was larger
than either of the real ones Claire had experienced, and she was having
trouble getting it all in her mouth.  She wondered what possible pleasure
Helen could be deriving from this as she slid her lips down around the
shaft.  She felt the tip prod against the back of her throat and stopped
abruptly, gulping involuntarily.  That had not felt pleasant.  She withdrew
her mouth from around the dildo and spent a while licking around the head,
hoping that would also prove satisfactory to Helen.

   "Get it back in your mouth, 314.  It's not a popsicle."

   She did so.  At the point where she couldn't go down the shaft any
further, she began to rise back up, and felt Helen's hands on the back of
her head.

   "Not good enough, 314," she said.  "I need you to take all of it."

   "Uh cghnt," she said, around a mouthful of rubber cock.

   "ALL OF IT," said Helen.  Her hands began to push her back down.

   "Ghhk." The rounded tip was probing further back now, well behind
Claire's teeth.  She tried to protest, and then felt herself retching. 
Helen held her head in place firmly.

   "Calm," she was saying, "stay calm.  Concentrate."

   "Mghh!"

   Claire felt her stomach churning.  She let out a croaking noise.

   "Five more seconds," said Helen.  "And don't even think about puking."

   "Hrrk."

   It was as if all the muscles that lined Claire's oesophagus were
rippling.  The five seconds felt like five hours, it was a supreme act of
concentration to relax her throat, trying to somehow be aware of the mass
sticking into her without allowing her gag reflex to take hold.  At last,
Helen allowed her to pull her head back.  Claire gasped and shuddered,
clamping her hands over her mouth.

   "Not bad.  Try holding your breath this time."

   The prosthetic cock was forced into Claire's mouth once more, and she
took as deep a breath as she could before it slipped to the back of her
mouth.  She found herself retching anyway, exhaling hard through her nose.
Tears were forming in her eyes.  Helen allowed her to rise by an inch or
so, but no further.

   "Get back to sucking it," she said.  "I want to see you going as far
down as you can."

   Helen slouched down in the chair, her fingers around the dildo's stem,
raising it to a more vertical position.  Claire made another attempt,
without the girl's hands forcing her down this time, and found it to be
slightly easier than before.  If she relaxed her throat muscles entirely,
it seemed like she could trick her body into not thinking it was choking.
She closed her eyes, feeling dampness in her eyelashes, and sank her face
further down into Helen's lap.

   Her stomach wasn't urging quite so much after a few more minutes of
practice.  Occasionally, Helen gave her some extra encouragement, holding
her head down for long seconds while she struggled for breath.  The dildo
became slick with the sort of watery saliva that was normally the herald of
impending vomit, but Claire was managing to keep herself under control. 
Her stomach felt very uneasy.  Against all her expectations, she even
managed to bring her lips for a split-second against the dildo's base,
before hurriedly retreating to retch a few times.  For a terrifying moment
she felt a hot, acid lump in her throat.  She swallowed hard, and took a
deep breath.

   "Good, 314.  You took the whole thing.  Well done."

   Helen ruffled her hair.  Claire's throat was still bobbing as she tried
to gulp away the taste of bile.

   "One more thing."

   Helen made her way to some plastic bins arranged on one of the equipment
room's benches, and pulled something from one of them, folding it up in her
hand.

   "The next one you suck is going to be real," she said, "but I'm not sure
you're far along enough in your conditioning to be trusted entirely.  Not
just yet."

   "What do you mean?"

   "Open your mouth, 314."

   Helen held up a length of strap, which had a two-inch metal ring set
halfway along it.  She pushed it into Claire's mouth, wedging it between
her teeth and propping her jaws apart.  She pulled Claire's hair out of the
way, and the ring slipped a little further in as she cinched the strap
tight behind her head.

   "I'm sure you wouldn't dream of doing something stupid like bringing
your teeth to bear on one of my clients," said Helen, "but there's too much
at stake to risk it, I'm afraid.  You understand, don't you?"

   "Haah." Claire's jaw was already starting to hurt.  She pushed her
tongue against the ring, to no effect.

   "Now let's have a bit of practice with the ring gag, so you can get used
to it."

   Another session of dildo-fellating ensued.  Helen instructed her to use
her tongue more, to make up for not being able to move her lips very much.
Claire eventually settled into a rhythm of sliding down, then pressing her
tongue against the dildo's underside on her way back up.  By tilting her
head to the side, she could make it touch the inside of her cheek, which
she assumed might also be acceptable.  The ring holding her mouth open made
her gag reflex slightly harder to suppress - and in particular, it was now
quite hard to swallow.  She could manage a few seconds of deep throating,
as long as she had about twice as long afterwards to recover.

   Helen eventually seemed satisfied with her performance while wearing the
gag.  She allowed Claire to kneel upright, and wiped the saliva from her
chin with a tissue.  The gag was causing her to drool uncontrollably.

   "Try not to do that, 314," she said.  "Tilt your head back."

   She did so.  Some excess saliva crept to the back of her throat, and she
struggled to swallow.

   "Ghhk."

   "Actually, you can have a little break from it," said Helen.  "It would
get in the way while I do your make-up."

   She unfastened the strap and removed the ring from Claire's mouth.  She
winced as she closed her aching jaw, and licked her lips.  Helen pulled her
upright and sat her back down in the chair, facing the mirror.  She
retrieved a make-up kit from somewhere, and set about the process of
applying it to Claire.

   The final effect wasn't exactly whoreish, but neither was it subtle -
now there was a big contrast between Claire's light-coloured eyes, and the
dark eye shadow and eyeliner that surrounded them.  Her lips were a subtler
shade, but still noticeably painted.  "You won't want your hair getting in
your face for this," Helen had explained, while tying her hair back in
pigtails with a pair of black ribbons.

   Claire had been obliged to sit and stare at her reflection while Helen
went about changing her own clothes after that.  In the mirror, she saw
Helen strip down to her underwear: simple, white panties and a
plain-looking bra.  The garments she picked for herself were less elaborate
in style: a long-sleeved blouse, and a black skirt that came down to just
above the knee, exposing a brief stretch of stocking-clad legs between the
skirt and the tops of her boots.  She applied a few touches of make-up in
about a quarter of the time she had devoted to Claire, and combed her hair,
making it straight and neat.

   After that, it was time for the gag to go back in, and Claire raised her
eyes skywards and tilted her head back as Helen secured it in place,
careful not to interfere with her hair or lipstick.

   "There," she said, "all done.  You look so pretty, 314!  I hope the
clients will be pleased."

   "Aah." Claire's tongue lolled out of her mouth.

   Helen added some restraints to Claire's outfit before they left: it
turned out that the boots had a few metal rings which were perfect for
threading metal chains through, held in place with small, brass padlocks.
Helen tied her hands together behind her back with the same sort of ribbons
she had used for her hair, using the mirror to show Claire how she had done
them up in pretty bows and asking, "isn't that nice," and Claire had nodded
half-heartedly and wondered how such a flimsy-looking ribbon could be
holding her wrists together so firmly.

   She was escorted to a room on a floor she hadn't seen before.  They
passed a corpulent man in a stained, grey t-shirt, with a band-aid over the
bridge of his nose.  He nodded approvingly at Claire, mouth turning up into
a seedy grin.

   "Maybe we should take a picture of her like that, Miss Stanford.  For
the site."

   "Mm, I don't know.  I'd want to spend a bit more time on her.  Maybe
later."

   "Let me know, then." he said.  He disappeared through a doorway.

   They stopped outside a door of dark wood.  Claire could hear voices on
the other side, and then a peal of raucous laughter.  There was the quieter
sound of a girl's voice.  Claire couldn't make out the words.

   "You are to do whatever these men ask," said Helen.  "You might even get
a reward, depending on how satisfied they are.  Understand?"

   "Uh-huh."

   "Good."

   Helen brought her inside the room, the decadence of its furnishings in
stark contrast to the spartan cells where Claire had spent her time up to
now.  The wooden floor was covered here and there with rugs, and a few
comfortable armchairs, upholstered in dark leather, occupied one corner of
the room.  There were a pair of paintings hung on the panelled walls: the
first depicting a vase of sunflowers, the second, placed opposite it,
showing a demented scene of gargantuan, spindly-limbed creatures tottering
across a bleak desert beneath a red sky.

   The men Helen had spoken of were seated around a table in the room's
centre - four of them, two on each side.  Lying face-up on the table was
Laura, hands and feet bound to the table legs with leather cuffs, and with
several more straps around her limbs and chest holding her completely
immobile.  A buffet of various types of sushi had been laid out upon her
nude body.  One of the men was midway through plucking a nugget of rice and
raw fish from between her breasts.  Her completely passive role in the
proceedings had been ensured with a ball gag, a leather blindfold, and a
pairof earplugs.

   "Gentlemen," said Helen, "I'm afraid it's been necessary to change the
programme somewhat.  This is number 314, and she'll be filling in for 161.
I will, of course, see to it that you're compensated appropriately."

   Another man rose from the table, jaws still working around a mouthful of
food.  He dabbed at his lips with a napkin, although some rice still
remained lodged in his generous beard.  He towered over Claire as he
approached, certainly not much less than six and a half feet in height. 
The buttons of a slightly-too-small waistcoat strained to contain his
barrel chest.

   "Let's 'ave a look at 'er," he said.  His accent was unmistakeably
French.

   The others had stopped eating to turn around and regard the new arrival.
One of the men, gaunt in appearance and completely clean-shaven, tweaked
Laura's nipple with his chopsticks.  Something halfway between a sneer and
a grin appeared on his face as she let out a squeak at the pain.  The
third, a blonde man wearing a starched, white shirt and silk cravat, turned
his head to glance at Claire, slipping his hands into his lap at the same
time.  Claire could see the hands and feet of a girl kneeling in front of
him, beneath the table.  The fourth man was the eldest, with a pair of
round-lensed spectacles resting on the bridge of his bulbous, red nose. 
His silver hair was slicked over a balding scalp, not quite concealing its
melanic spots.

   It was he who asked, "still don't have any young boys for me, eh,
Stanford?"

   "We don't do that sort of thing in my facility," she said, curtly.

   "Oh, you're no fun," he said.  "You want to talk to the place in Brazil,
they'd tell you a thing or two.  Little brown boys, oh yes..."

   "Shush, Curval," the Frenchman admonished.  "There'll be plenty of time
for such indulgences later in the tour.  When one visits mademoiselle
Stanford's facility, it is to indulge in the pleasures of the girls she is
so proficient in training, wouldn't you agree?"

   "I cannot agree with you entirely, Duclos.  While the girls are
proficient in a - no offence, mademoiselle - routine sort of way, this
sashimi is among the best I've tasted.  It would be all the better plucked
from the quivering body of a tanned young lad, but I suppose we must all
make compromises." He picked a morsel from atop Laura's thigh, and chewed
on it sadly.

   "Regardless," said Duclos, "we must see what sorts of pleasures this...
petite jeune fille can lavish upon us."

   Helen paused by the door on her way out, lifting a telephone from its
wall bracket and gesturing with it.  "Feel free to call if you need
anything else," she said.  She replaced it on the wall, and left Claire in
the care of the four men.

   Duclos put a pair of fingers into Claire's mouth, pulling out her tongue
for inspection.  "Ah, bien," he said.  "You must show me how well you can
use that lovely tongue of yours.  Come, come." He gestured towards the
armchairs in the corner.  Claire followed him over, careful not to tangle
her feet in her ankle-chains.  At the table, the man with the cravat rose
from his seat, fully-erect prick jutting from his open trousers.  The girl
emerged from under the table.  Claire recognised her as 212, the girl whose
breast-milk she had drunk, direct from the source, on the previous day.

   "I think I'll join you over there," the man said, "I need a comfier
chair to relax in.  And, whilst there's something to be said for being
serviced by an unseen girl, I would like a nice view of the climactic
moment."

   212 stumbled forward as he pulled her roughly by her wrist.  She wasn't
wearing any clothes or restraints, although a dress bundled in one corner
suggested she hadn't arrived in that state.  As she knelt before the man,
who was settling himself into one of the armchairs, Claire could see that
the girl's buttocks had bright red marks on them.  She dutifully returned
to sucking on the man's prick, and he drew air through his teeth with a
hiss as he gazed up towards the ceiling.

   "My god, this one's good," he said.  "Hey Curval, maybe you should have
a go with one of these girls next, they might change your ways, you know."

   "We'll see," came the reply.

   Most of the gaunt man's interest still seemed focussed on Laura.  He was
currently lowering his chopsticks towards her genitals, a little clump of
wasabi held in their tips.

   "Hey, don't get distracted."

   A light slap to the cheek brought Claire's attention back to the man
before her, who had seated himself alongside the recipient of 212's oral
ministrations.  He had unfastened his trousers to bring forth his limp,
slightly greasy genitals.

   "You may begin," he said.

   Somewhere behind her, Laura was mewling in pain at whatever the two
other men were doing to her.  One of them made some joke about not playing
with one's food, and they both shared a hearty bout of laughter.  It segued
into a brief coughing fit for the older man.  Meanwhile, Claire glanced
over at 212 to see the sorts of things she was doing - the girl's head was
bobbing up and down fairly rapidly, her lips sliding easily over the man's
veiny cock, which was slick and wet.  She even did the same thing Claire
had done with Helen, removing it from her mouth briefly to lick around the
head, and stroking the underside with her fingertips.  The other man
grabbed Claire under the chin, forcing her to face him.

   "I said, 'you may begin.'"

   Fortunately for Claire, the gag masked her expression as she grimaced,
leaning in towards the man's flaccid cock.  Both the men she'd been with
previously had been uncircumcised, but the one before her now was devoid of
foreskin.  She wasn't sure how much of a difference it would make.  With
her hands still tied behind her back, it seemed she would have to use her
mouth for the whole act.  She extended her tongue, licking the very tip of
the man's prick, and it twitched once.  She slipped her tongue beneath the
head and raised it up a little, which seemed to bring some more life into
it - the shaft fattened out slightly, and the skin began to stretch.  Soon
it was firm enough that she could take it into her mouth entirely,
moistening its skin with her spit.  As she couldn't close her mouth, she
pressed against it with her tongue, and felt it quivering as it strained to
full rigidity.  She slipped her mouth down over it entirely, and started to
apply what she'd practiced with Helen.

   Some aspects were better than Helen's dildo, and some were worse.  The
man's cock wasn't as big as the rubber prosthesis, but it tasted much, much
worse.  The feeling of his skin was horrid in her mouth - sickly soft, far
too smooth against her tongue.  Where the dildo had simply been an inert
lump, the real prick twitched and throbbed with its own life.  A little
precum emerged from the end and Claire swallowed hard, fighting her urging
stomach.  Even though she had done this a few times before, it never got
any easier.

   The other man was breathing more rapidly.  She glanced over to see his
fingers digging into the leather of the armchair as 212 continued to work,
tilting her head sideways and playing her tongue over the length of his
prick.  The man reached the point where he could take no more: a palm
against 212's forehead pushed her head back, and half a second later a
volcano of semen erupted from his prick's purple head, directly onto the
girl's face.  He grunted savagely while emitting his load, tugging at his
genitals with one hand to bring forth another jet of thick fluid.  212's
face remained blank and expressionless.  She closed her eyes serenely as
the man defiled her.

   "Thank you, master," she said.

   "Hah!  Oh god.  Oh my god.  Marvellous," said the man.  He sounded out
of breath.  "Now, girl, clean me up."

   212 rose to fetch some napkins from the table.  Claire didn't want to
draw the ire of her designated man by getting distracted, and continued to
dutifully work at his own set of genitals.  A milky-white mixture of precum
and spit ran down her chin onto the man's testicles, matting the sparse
covering of hair upon them, but he didn't seem to care: a quick withdrawal
of his member from her mouth allowed Claire to look up and see that his
head was lolling backwards, chest rising and falling with his deep breaths.
Alongside her, 212 was wiping the other man's dick clean, with no regard
for the slowly-congealing mess on her own face.  She returned his
now-shrivelled member to a dry, if slightly sticky state, before
rearranging the man's underwear and re-fastening his trousers.

   "So," the man was saying to Claire's client, "best so far?  Personally,
I think this girl was rather good."

   "Thank you, master."

   "I didn't ask for your opinion, cunt!" he snapped.  "Although," he
continued, "those Spanish girls were rather lovely too."

   "Ah yes, you do like the, urgh," (Claire went as far down as she could,
feeling the man's prick brush her epiglottis), "the meditteranean types,
don't you.  As for me, I-hngh," (against her cheek this time, the man's
prick sliding easily against the insides of her mouth), "I'm waitng for the
girls...  in Norway.  Wait until we get there.  It'll be gre-aughh." The
last word was lost as semen surged into Claire's mouth, the prick taut and
quivering as its liquid payload squirted forth.  It fountained against the
back of her throat and ran back down her tongue, and, unable to close her
mouth, most of the slimy mess made its way straight back out onto the man's
genitals.  Claire coughed once, dislodging a gobbet of semen which had made
its way slightly too far back, and slid her mouth from around the man's
softening prick.

   "Ah, merde," he said.  "I would have liked to last a little longer in
this pretty one's mouth.  Our conversation must have distracted me.  I need
to concentrate!"

   The other man laughed.

   "Still," he said, cupping Claire's face with his hands, the skin of
which felt surprisingly soft, "she is a good one.  Curval, you old fool,
get over here.  She'll convert you."

   "Ah, I suppose I'll give her a try," he said.  "But send her this way.
There's something I must do first."

   The man hefted Claire to her feet.  She looked down to see that the
other man now had 212 sitting in his lap, and was pawing her roughly, one
hand grasped firmly around a breast while he kissed her on the neck and
collarbone.  The other hand was rubbing savagely at her pussy in a manner
that didn't look very pleasurable at all, but 212 was tolerating it all the
same, merely gazing at the man's face through lidded eyes, with a
half-smile on her face.

   Claire was brought over in front of the eldest man, Curval.  He poured
water from a jug into his glass, and then held it out in front of Claire.

   "I don't want your seed all over me," he said to Duclos.  "Hold her head
back."

   Curval poured the glass of water into Claire's mouth.  "Give it a good
swill round, my girl," he said, "and get the worst out."

   Keeping the water in her mouth was hard, with her jaws held open.  The
water swished around between Claire's teeth, diluting the taste of the last
man's ejaculate throughout her entire mouth, and then she breathed the
wrong way and a little of it entered her throat.  She started to choke
reflexively, throwing her head forward too suddenly for Duclos to react,
spitting tainted water onto the rug beneath her, and on to one of Curval's
immaculately-polished shoes.

   "Gah!  You filthy girl!" he cried.

   "Ihh oree!" Claire attempted to apologise, before receiving a hard slap
to the face.

   "Shut up.  Just get to it," he said.  "This had better be worth it," he
added, regarding Duclos with a serious look.

   The man fumbled with his flies.  His fingers were shaking slightly, and
he had trouble gripping the zipper.  He produced his genitals, which were
pale and sad-looking: a narrow prick, draped across a scrotum that looked
like a pair of walnuts, surrounded by pubic hair as sparse and grey as that
on his head.  Fighting back tears from the stinging pain on her cheek,
Claire set about attending to him in the same way as the previous man,
trying not to think about how he was old enough to be her father.  Despite
his age, his cock was just as stiff and responsive as the previous one,
although the skin on it was a little slacker - it felt like he had twice as
much foreskin as was necessary.  As the second cock slipped in and out of
her mouth, Claire consoled herself with the fact that it would be over
soon, there was no way any of them could want this done twice in close
succession.  It wasn't physiologically possible, as far as she knew.

   Something seemed wrong this time.  She was doing everything that had
made the last man come within a few minutes, and yet this man's cock seemed
to be withering.  It drooped out of her mouth, and no amount of licking or
scooping it back inside with her tongue could rouse it.  She looked up, and
saw the man regarding her with a glum expression.

   "It's no good, Duclos.  I'm too set in my ways.  I wonder why you even
brought me on this trip.  Perhaps if she had shorter hair, and no lipstick
though, perhaps I could imagine..."

   "I'll show you yet, old man.  We just need something different.  Maybe
her behind would be more to your liking?"

   "Ah.  Yes," he said, a smile causing deep wrinkles to appear at the
corner of his eyes and his cheeks, "perhaps that will work.  Kneel over, my
girl, and face the other way."

   Claire dropped on to her knees.  She shuffled around in a half-turn, and
knelt forward.  With her arms still tied, she ended up resting with her
shoulders on the floor, ass raised in the air.  The man ruffled her
petticoat as he inspected her behind.  Cold, bony hands grasped her thighs.
Fingers crept beneath the waistband of her panties and pulled them down,
and there was a rustle of fabric as the man pushed her dress up her back to
reveal her bared buttocks.  She groaned once as she felt a thumb either
side of her ass hole, spreading her cheeks.

   "You were right, Duclos.  This will do nicely.  It's a fine ass hole,
all tight and pink and clean.  And yet, I wonder...  help me down, will
you?"

   The man made several pained groans as Duclos helped him, very gradually,
down onto the floor to kneel behind Claire.  "The-ere we go," he said,
manoeuvring himself into position.  "And now, my girl, we'll see if you're
good enough for my standards.  I am," he added, "a connoisseur of asses."

   Claire couldn't stop herself from letting out a whimper as she felt the
man's slightly stubbled cheek against her inner thigh, and then, like some
horrid creature burrowing into her, the tip of the man's tongue slipping
into her ass hole.  He made a snuffling sound like a pig, and then clamped
his lips down over her anus, forcing his tongue up as far as it would go
until Claire could feel it straining inside her, desperately trying to inch
further inwards.  There was a weird sucking feeling as he pulled it out to
trail his tongue-tip around her anus.  Somehow he managed to plunge it in
even deeper the second time, and then gave a long, wet lick from just below
her butt hole almost to the small of her back.

   "A fine taste, my girl," he said.  "A magnificent aroma.  Mademoiselle
Stanford clearly pays good attention to your diet.  Ah, and what's this? 
My erection's been restored.  Perhaps you aren't all that useless after
all." He paused to plunge his tongue in once more, smacking his lips
together once he was done.  "Roberts," he said, "send your girl this way, I
need somebody to jerk me off."

   Across the room, the man with the cravat grudgingly released 212 from
his arms, allowing her to eagerly trot over and kneel beside the man,
taking his prick in her hand.

   He resumed his oral assault on Claire's butt hole, each tongue stroke a
new and disgusting intrusion into her body.  He sucked hungrily, almost
desperately, smothering as much of his lips and face between her buttocks
as he could manage, groaning ecstatically.  Apparently the combination of
212 and Claire was supremely stimulating for him - within two minutes he
gave a harsh grunt as he emitted an impressive load of semen onto the rug
beneath him.  Even that did not stop him from spending a little while
longer kneading at Claire's buttocks, thrusting a finger inside and causing
her a considerable amount of pain.  Eventually he stood, on shaking legs,
and returned to his chair.  212 obediently cleaned his prick in the same
way as she had the other man's.  Claire remained kneeling, her ass hole wet
and violated.

   That seemed to have satisfied the men.  Duclos pulled Claire to her
feet. It seemed like the only object of the gaunt man's affection was Laura
- he had placed a chopstick either side of her nipple, and was squeezing as
hard as he could while the poor girl squealed desperately through her gag.
Her other nipple already bore a pair of dark red, rectangular marks.

   "Come, now," said Curval.  "Leave the girl be.  Her reactions are only
going to get weaker."

   In a final act of cruelty, the man pushed his chopsticks up into Laura's
pussy.  They remained there as he sat back and folded his arms.

   "So, where to next?" enquired Duclos.  "Some drinking, perhaps, before
we head to a more traditional whorehouse for the evening's fun?"

   "That may be one plan," said Roberts.  "Though I'll join you fellows
later.  If 212 has nothing else scheduled today, I'd like to spend a little
more time with her."

   "Oh, how dull," said Duclos, making a dismissive gesture.  "To fuck the
same girl more than once?  An exercise in tedium, my friend.  We'll find
plenty more."

   "Ah, the endless quest for new horizons.  Very well, Duclos, let's be
off."

   On the way out, Roberts put his hands around 212's throat, and brought
his face very close to hers.  She made no sound, despite the fact that she
was practically being strangled.

   "Keep up the good work, 212," he said.  "Despite what he says, I'm sure
you'll be seeing me again, one day."

   "Thank...  you...  master," she croaked.  He released her, and she
gasped for breath.  The last they heard from the men was their raucous
laughter as they made their way from the room, closing and locking the door
behind them.

   It seemed that the only thing left to do was to wait.  Claire tried
gesturing for 212 to unbind her wrists, making a series of useless sounds
through her gag, but the girl merely shook her head and remained kneeling
where Roberts had left her.  Laura was tensing her limbs against the table
legs, not finding an inch of give in her restraints.  Claire was at least
able to stand up and shuffle around to the end of the table, bending over
and groping around until she could grab the chopsticks and pull them out of
Laura's pussy.  The girl mumbled something through her ball gag, in
gratitude.

   The chairs were no use to Claire with her arms tied behind her back like
this.  She sat cross-legged on the floor, and waited.