Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Author: Hoop
Title: Incarceration Ch.28
Part: Chapter 28
Summary: Emma is abused for the entertainment of a large audience.
Keywords: MF, bd, nc, tort, sad, ws

   "Use these to tie your hair back." The attendant handed Emma a pair of
rubber bands, and continued to prod her along in front of him as they made
their way through the building.  Emma pulled her hair up out of the way,
working the rubber bands down her fingers until they snapped into place,
and wondering what she might be destined for today.  They descended two
floors in an elevator, and she was brought to a grey door with the word
"PIT" written on it, in chisel-tipped marker pen.



   The attendant pushed the door open, and light flooded into the corridor.
Emma squinted.



   "Well, good luck," he said.  He laughed, and shoved her hard in the
back, sending her stumbling through the doorway into the blinding, white
light.  She covered her eyes reflexively; her condition made her especially
susceptible to bright lights.  She could feel her retinas stinging.  As her
eyes adjusted to the harsh illumination, she became aware of the many
voices in the room surrounding her - low murmurs, the sounds too quiet to
make out the exact words.  There was the faint smell of tobacco smoke.  The
floor beneath her feet was slightly springy, like a gym mat.



   She took a step forward, and the door closed behind her with a heavy
clunk.  One of the voices let out a cheer, somewhere off to the left.  She
was able to see the people now, through the haze of the lights suspended
from the ceiling above.  Tiered rows of seats sloped down around the room's
edges, the lowest at the brink of a two-metre drop down to the floor on
which Emma stood.  She was in some kind of arena.  A few dozen spectators
were variously seated above and around her, some of them with drinks in
their hands, others with cigars.  All of them were smartly-dressed, as if
they were out for the evening.  The composition was almost entirely male.



   There was a break in the rows of seats to make space for a larger, more
ostentatious piece of furniture: a large chair, upholstered in wine-red
leather, decorated around the headrest with a halo of superfluous metal
spikes.  As her eyes adjusted completely, she could see that Helen was
sitting there, wearing a white blouse, dark stockings, and a short, black
skirt that showed off her legs to a significant extent.  Evidently she
liked to dress up for her clients.  Girl number 212 knelt beside the
throne, nude, collared and gagged, resting her head on Helen's knee.  Helen
was stroking the girl's hair, as if she were a pet.



   "Gentlemen," she said, standing up and walking a few steps down from her
seat.  Her amplified voice emanated from speakers positioned around the
room, out of sight.  212 followed her obediently, on all fours.  "We have a
new girl for your delectation this evening.  This is number 641, who has
been coming along quite nicely, even despite some initial difficulties. 
She is, indeed, a genuine albino, we finally found one for all of you who
were asking."



   Murmurs of approval came from the crowd.  Emma crossed her arms over her
chest.  She was used to being naked in front of Helen and the other girls
by now, but not in front of this many people.  She couldn't even have her
hair hanging down to cover her breasts - she was completely exposed.



   "Don't be shy, 641," Helen called down.  "Give them a look."



   Emma turned back to the door and tried in vain to open it.  There wasn't
even a handle on this side.  Of course, it was locked.  A few of the
audience laughed.  One of them let out an exaggerated "boo".



   "Well, you'll be seeing it all soon anyway," said Helen.  She returned
to her chair, and unfolded a little microphone on a flexible stem from one
of the arms.  She leered down at Emma before speaking into the device.



   "Release the gimp."



   A panel in the wall to Emma's left popped out slightly, and slid aside.
An attendant backed into the arena, holding one end of a rigid pole
attached to something out of sight.  There was a hearty cheer from the
audience as the attendant moved to the centre of the arena, pulling with
him that which was attached to the other end of the pole: it was joined, by
means of a metal linkage, to a leather collar around the neck of what Emma
assumed was "the gimp".  The figure was over six feet tall, clad entirely
in creaking, black leather and glistening latex.  Its sex was
indeterminate, a leather hood concealing all facial features.  A horizontal
metal zipper covered the mouth, and even the eyes were hidden behind dark
lenses.  The mask bulged slightly around the grommeted nose-holes, in time
with its wearer's breath.



   The figure's body was wreathed in a criss-cross of leather straps, with
another zipper leading down from around the navel area in between its legs.
Its hands were clad in heavy gauntlets with studded wrist-bands, although
the feet were covered simply by an extension of the suit's legs, rather
than any kind of distinct footwear.  Emma backed away, and felt her heel
bump against the wall as she reached the edge of the pit.  The gimp reached
to its face with a gloved hand and undid the zipper covering its mouth,
sticking its tongue out at Emma and waggling it while making a demented
cackling noise.



   "All right," said Helen.  "Let's start off with something standard,
seeing as it's her first time.  There are to be three timed rounds.  Number
641, the rules are simple.  If, at any point, you wish the gimp to stop
what it is doing, you have simply to shout 'mercy'.  You will, however,
have to pay a forfeit if you do so.  The severity of this may vary.  Any
questions?"

   "What do-"

   "Good, let's get started then.  Begin round one!"



   There was another cheer.  The attendant released the gimp from his
handling pole and retreated behind the wall-panel, sliding it shut behind
him.  Emma was left in the arena, back to the wall, with the leather-clad
figure twenty feet away from her.  It raised its hands in the air and
wriggled its fingers, which apparently had some significance to the
audience, some of whom laughed, some cheered.  It began to pace towards
Emma, slowly.



   She was fairly sure that getting caught by the thing would do her no
good.  She sidestepped along the wall, then kicked off and ran past it to
the other side.  The gimp turned about slowly, and came towards her at the
same, deliberate pace.



   They repeated the pointless dance four times, and then the gimp lunged
towards her very suddenly, letting out another manic cackle.  Emma yelped
at the suddenness of its movement, just managing to evade its grip.  The
gimp rebounded from a wall, coming at her full speed now, arms open wide.
There was nowhere she could go.  She turned away, she felt a leathery hand
on her shoulder, and then a forearm between her legs.  The gimp came up
underneath her, hoisting her into the air as if she weighed nothing at all.
It made a half-turn, and then threw her down to the floor, knocking the
wind from her.  The floor-padding softened the fall a little, but not by
much.



   Dazed, Emma was in no position to fight off her assailant as it rolled
her over on to her front and straddled her, sitting upon the small of her
back.  A hand on her forehead pulled her head up.  The gimp leaned in
swiftly to extend its tongue between zipper-teeth, and lick her face.  Then
it held up a single, extended index finger to the audience, who cheered.



   The relevance of that became apparent a few moments later, as Emma felt
the sting of the very same finger being forced into her ass hole,
unlubricated.  She was unable to stifle a pained cry.  The approving sounds
of the audience made it worse.  The intrusion lasted a long time, the gimp
leaving its unwelcome finger in place until the sounds eventually abated.
Her feet kicked against the floor uselessly.  She tried to squrim away, but
the weight bearing down on her was too much to shift.  Emma wheezed for
breath.



   She hadn't been able to avoid a certain amount of familiarity with
things going in her ass recently.  If this was all there was to it, though,
then perhaps she might make it through the ordeal after all.



   Then the gimp held up two fingers, and Emma realised that it was going
to get a lot worse.



   After taking three fingers at once, her ass hole had loosened up a
little.  The gimp had actually made several inward thrusts that time, while
Emma breathed through clenched teeth and dug her nails into the floor.  The
insertions were becoming quite painful.  She was scared that something
might tear at the introduction of a little finger in addition to the first
three, but somehow she held out, gritting her teeth as her anus was
distended even further.  The gimp had repositioned itself so that it was
facing towards her legs now, and was taking an interval to knead her
buttocks roughly, parting them wide so that the audience could get a full
view of her ass hole.  Then it did something that caused the loudest cheer
yet.  Emma strained her neck to look above her, and saw that it was holding
its clenched fist in the air.



   Emma shouted the magic word even before the fist had begun its descent.
She was sure her ass would not have been able to cope at all with that sort
of punishment.  The gimp stood, hanging its head in a caricature of
dejection while the audience booed and hissed.  Emma sat up, hugging her
knees to her chest and feeling the audience's disapproval bearing down on
her from all sides.



   "Well.  It looks like 641 needs some more anal training," Helen declared
to the audience.  "But I suppose we shouldn't push her too far.  Maybe one
of her other holes will be more accommodating?"



   The attendant emerged from the wall again, carrying a six-foot length of
metal that bore a sizeable, neon-pink dildo on one end, like the tip of a
spear.  He handed it to the gimp, who held it aloft triumphantly. 
"Forfeit!" the audience were shouting, "Forfeit!".



   Emma was a little worn-out from her unsuccessful attempts at evasion so
far, and the attendant was easily able to force her to the ground, face-up,
and hold her in place.  She tried in vain to keep her legs together, but
they were prised apart by her tormentors.  The dildo-spear was raised, and
the gimp plunged it into her cunt at the great approval of the spectators.



   "Maybe she needs some lubrication," Helen commented.  After a few
thrusts, Emma found the implement being waved in her face, and eventually
forced into her mouth.  She could taste herself on it.  When it returned to
her nethers, its passage was lubricated somewhat by her saliva.  She spat,
trying to rid her mouth of her own flavour.



   The gimp prodded at her for a good while, sometimes twisting the pole
around, sometimes withdrawing it to poke at her face while she cringed and
tried to flinch away.  She was surprised at how wet she had become - it was
as if her body was now used to this sort of violation happening so often
that it was pointless to try and fight it any more.  As a result, the dildo
left several slimy trails on her cheek and breasts as the gimp wielded it
recklessly.



   The vigour of the gimp's onslaught was making her breathless.  She could
feel her breasts jiggling back and forth as her whole body moved at the
unceasing motion, with at least two dozen rapt onlookers able to see every
response of her vulnerable body to the rubber cock being repeatedly forced
into her.



   Helen called off the assault as the audience appeared to grow bored,
after some five minutes of constant, ache-inducing violation.  She was
quite exhausted by the time it was over.  She could feel herself blushing,
partly from the physical act itself, and partly from the attention from a
room full of people watching it happen to her.  Her body was responding
favourably even if her mind wasn't, and it felt so wrong for so many people
to be witnessing it.



   The attendant left the scene, and the gimp pulled on a fresh pair of
gloves, which attached to the suit's sleeves by means of several buckles.
Emma was able to close her legs and stand up, now weak at the knees.  The
expressions of the onlookers were horrid to behold, their grins belying
their immense enjoyment at witnessing her being manhandled and probed for
their amusement.  She couldn't look at them.  She cast her eyes down, once
again trying to cover herself, and knowing that it was pointless to do so.



   The gimp drew the handle of some implement from within the network of
belts swathing its body, and a single length of black material slithered
across its torso as a whip, which had hitherto been wrapped around its
body, unfurled.  It was unwound slowly and deliberately, the leather strand
falling to the floor in a coiled heap.  The gimp flicked its wrist sharply
and the whip sprang out, cracking against the floor near Emma's feet.



   "Second round," came Helen's voice.  "Although, perhaps I should tell
you what the forfeit is this time, 641.  If you decide you can't take being
whipped, there is a high-voltage alternative available."



   The audience seemed to like the sound of that.



   "Begin!"



   The whip immediately lashed across Emma's foot; the gimp had moved
imperceptibly fast.  She instinctively clutched at the struck limb as the
sudden, sharp pain developed into a hotness that spread halfway up her
calf. Standing on one leg, she was ill-balanced to avoid the next blow,
which came down upon the top of her breast.  She cried out.  The gimp paced
in a semicircle, the whip slithering along the floor behind it, snake-like,
and gave her time to recover.



   She held her arms over her chest to try and protect herself, and the
gimp lashed at her thighs, causing her to shriek at the sudden, savage
pain. She stumbled away, hunched over, and three blows across her back
brought her to her knees as tears welled up in her eyes.  The memory of her
caning was still recent, her flesh still not fully healed from that
previous beating.  This was even worse, with the implement capable of
delivering faster, sharper impacts against her defenceless body.  A fourth
crack against the exposed sole of her foot was already enough, and she
cried for mercy, desperate for temporary respite, without giving any
thought to whether the alternative would be any better.



   The crowd jeered, and Emma was left to huddle on the floor and wipe the
tears from her eyes while the gimp handed the whip over to the attendant.
It exchanged it for another pole-like instrument, with a pair of metal
prongs at one end and a battery pack at the other, red and black wires
coiled around the shaft.  A small light flickered on the battery pack, and
Emma became aware of a humming noise.  She staggered to her feet.  Although
it seemed futile to try and stall by running, she had no desire to
experience the effects of the device.



   The gimp taunted her, letting Emma tire herself out by never quite
catching her, always allowing a gap for her to slip through.  It could only
last for so long though, and eventually, with grim predictability, she
ended up cornered.  The gimp waved the implement at her, letting out the
same, manic cackling as before.  The audience delighted as she cowered.



   "What's the matter?  Scared?" someone shouted.



   The gimp jabbed her in the belly, and Emma doubled over in pain as a
surge of electricity pulsed through the muscles of her abdomen.  Some
useless instinct made her curl up into a ball, and the gimp took advantage
of her position by shocking her exposed buttocks.  Her thighs went numb. 
She was jabbed again, and urine trickled down over her legs as she lost
control of a different group of muscles.  The probing ceased, and, after
lying motionless for a while longer, she cautiously brought her knees down
from her face, and stood on shaking legs.  She stepped away from the puddle
on the floor.  The audience were quiet, waiting to see what would happen
next.



   A spectator turn to his neighbour, sharing something that made both of
them laugh, doubtless at her expense.  She couldn't endure it any longer.

   "How can you watch this?" she screamed.

   One or two of the audience gasped.  Helen, seated opposite her, frowned.
Emma looked around at unsympathetic faces.  She was immediately filled with
the dreadful feeling that she was doing something very stupid, but the
momentum carried her onwards.

   "How can you do this to someone?" she appealed desperately.  "I'm a real
person!  Nobody deserves this!  Nobody..." she trailed off as her pleas
gave way to sobs.

   "Shut her up, please." Helen's voice was artificially amplified over the
speakers as she instructed the gimp.  It dropped the electric prod, and
came running towards Emma, hunched down low.

   "No!" she cried, "Please!  You can't do this to me!  To anyone!  Please!
It's not fair!  It's not!"



   The gimp was behind her now.  It grabbed her around the chest, and a
gloved hand covered her mouth, silencing her protests.  She flailed and
kicked backwards, all to no avail.  The gimp did something with her arm
that ended up with it twisted in a very painful position, as if any further
movement would dislocate her shoulder.  Up among the seats, Helen was
walking down to the arena's edge, accompanied by 212.  She said something
to the girl, who nodded compliantly.  Helen knelt down and removed the ball
gag from the girl's mouth, and threw it down onto the floor of the arena.



   "Quite a little outburst we had there, 641.  I do apologise, gentlemen."

   Tears of frustration ran down Emma's cheeks.  The smell of the gimp's
slightly damp, leathery glove filled her nostrils.  Helen stared her down;
Emma closed her eyes and wished like so many times before to wake up from
what she so desperately wanted to be a bad dream.  The gimp released its
grip, but she didn't feel like shouting any more.  The energy of her
outburst had dissipated.  Everyone in the room was looking at her
disapprovingly.



   "Finished?"

   Emma didn't say anything.  She tried to look at Helen again, but could
not make eye contact, no matter how hard she tried.  She was beginning to
regret what she had said.  What must Helen think of her?

   "Pick up the ball gag, 641," said Helen.  "You might be able to redeem
yourself with a little cooperation."

   Emma went over to where it had fallen on the ground, and picked it up.
It was wet with 212's saliva.

   "Nobody here wants to hear your silly little protests, 641.  Put it on."

   Emma tried to clean the thing that was to go in her mouth, wiping it
with her hand.

   "NOW," Helen snapped.

   The gimp came over to assist, pushing the gag into Emma's mouth until
she was choking, and then fastening it in place.  She raised her hands to
try and make it less uncomfortable, and the gimp swatted them away.  A foot
pressing on her calf forced her down into a kneeling position, and the gimp
grabbed a handful of Emma's hair, pulling her head back and forcing her to
face Helen and the audience above.



   "You seem to have the wrong idea, 641.  You're not a 'real person',"
Helen explained.  "You're a plaything.  Something for the amusement of
myself, and the other people gathered here.  Nothing more.  I would have
thought you understood that fact by now."

   Emma made a sound through her gag, but it didn't seem like protesting
wasn't going to be very effective.  The audience's main reaction was
laughter.  Helen, in contrast, looked extremely displeased, and Emma was
unable to avoid thinking of the consequences that might befall her.  How
could she have been so stupid?



   "Before, when you called me 'mistress', that wasn't just for show, was
it?" said Helen.

   Emma shook her head.

   "I seem to recall we went through this in a lot of detail, 641. 
Actually, perhaps you can remind us all."

   The gimp ungagged Emma, and a trail of spittle ran down her chest as the
ball was removed from her mouth.  She was pulled on to her feet by her
hair, still in the gimp's grip.

   "Recite it," said Helen.  "in full."



   The words that had been beaten into Emma a few days previously were
ingrained in her mind now.  Recalling them conjured up phantoms of the pain
she had experienced; the cane-strokes on her back and buttocks, the horrid
pinching of the clothespins at her most vulnerable parts.  Helen's
overbearing presence as she made her recite the words again and again. 
They came automatically now, from somewhere deep in her brain.



   "I am a slave," she recited, "I am nothing.  My body is not my own.  It
belongs to my mistress." She breathed out slowly, trying to calm herself a
little.  As she spoke the words, she realised she believed them.  Of course
she shouldn't have lost control like that.  Helen was the one in charge
here, and anything that Emma did against Helen's will would only cause her
pain.  She was sure Helen might have a kind side, too - of course she did.
Claire seemed to be the most well-behaved of all of them and didn't appear
to be suffering at all, as far as she knew.  This was obviously another
test, and she had failed it.  Emma realised that she was at fault, and the
regret began to gnaw at her as she continued to speak.



   "...and she may do to me whatever she pleases." She finished her
recitation.  Helen's frown had gradually shifted into a wry smile.

   "Is there anything else you'd like to say, 641?"

   "...I'm sorry, mistress."

   "Good," Helen said.  "Good.  Perhaps you aren't a lost cause after all.
But now I'd like you to show me the extent of your devotion."



   Helen lead 212 to the edge of the arena, and the gimp helped to hoist
the girl down into the pit.  She stood around uncertainly, looking up at
Helen, waiting for instructions.



   "Seeing as you didn't like the electrocution, 641, this other girl can
be your proxy."

   212 looked suddenly panicked.  She regarded Helen with a pleading
expression, which was ignored.  The gimp placed the electric prod in Emma's
hands, so that her thumb was resting over the trigger button.

   "Oh no, no, please," Emma whispered, low enough that only the gimp would
be able to hear her.  "Please, I can't do it, I can't."



   Its only response was to guide her hands into taking a firmer grip on
the implement.  212 was gagged once again, and the gimp stood back, leaving
the girls to face one another.  212 was gazing at the floor, apparently
having accepted her fate.  Emma raised the electric prod reluctantly.



   "Start shocking her," said Helen.  "I'll tell you when you can stop."



   The girl let out a whimper as Emma put the metal prongs against her
thigh.  She looked up at Helen, and then at Emma, silently begging her not
to do it.



   Emma depressed the trigger.  The girl flinched away, clutching at the
skin that had been electrified.  Emma jabbed her again in the forearm,
causing the whole limb to twitch.



   "More!" someone shouted from the crowd.  "Faster!"



   The thought of 'better her than me' did nothing to make Emma feel less
bad as she shocked the girl for a third time.  She was on her knees now,
crawling slowly away.



   "On her butt!"



   She followed that instruction, and 212 whimpered as the implement
discharged.  The next jolt made her topple sideways onto the floor.  She
looked back at Emma with tearful eyes.  She shrieked at the next jab, and
Emma's guilt was all the worse for knowing exactly what the girl was
feeling.  It was Helen's will, though.  What else could she do?



   "Zap her cunt!" a voice came from somewhere above.

   212 scrunched her eyes shut, trying to stem the flow of her tears.  Her
whole body was trembling.  Emma looked up to see Helen nodding in approval.

   "Their wishes are mine, 641.  Do as he said."

   Emma gently parted 212's legs, and rolled the girl onto her back.  She
placed the prongs against the girl's genitals, averting her eyes from her
expression as she triggered the device.  Even through her gag, 212 managed
to scream quite loud.



   "Again!  For longer!"



   Another scream, and 212's bladder yielded in the same way Emma's had
done.  The girl tried without success to crawl out of the spreading pool of
urine.



   "You've made a mess of my arena, girl," Helen called down.  The audience
were clearly enjoying themselves, the low hubbub of noise was punctuated
with laughter.  "Looks like 212 can't do anything about it, though.  Clean
her up, 641."

   "But..."

   "Clean her," Helen said, "with your tongue.  I'm sure 212 doesn't want
to just lie there covered in her own piss, do you now?"

   The girl whined.  Her eyelids were fluttering, her legs twitching.  Emma
took hold of the girl's ankles, and dragged her away from the worst of the
mess.

   "One more zap, for luck," said Helen.

   212 didn't even respond to that one.  A trickle of drool ran from the
corner of her gagged mouth, dampening her hair.  Her eyes were shut.  The
gimp wrested the device from Emma, and forced her down onto the floor.

   "Get licking," Helen said.



   To hesitate would only anger her, and Emma couldn't risk worsening her
mood any more.  Perhaps she really could redeem herself right now, if she
was totally compliant.  She knelt between 212's legs, and went about
licking her thighs.  Emma shuddered at the taste of her damp skin, but
managed to prevent herself from retching.  The gimp encouraged her to do
her work by resting the prod at the back of her neck, not discharging it,
merely holding it there as a reminder.  Given the effects she'd seen so
far, Emma didn't want to contemplate the consequences of a jolt so close to
her brain.  The thing seemed considerably more powerful than the
attendants' batons.



   Emma reached the top of 212's inner thigh, and felt the gimp's hand
against the back of her head, shoving her face into the unconscious girl's
wet genitals.  There was laughter from the crowd above.  Emma felt her arms
pulled back from beneath her, forcing her head down even further.



   "Make sure she's nice and clean there, 641!"



   Her face was firmly held against the girl's crotch, and Emma licked away
obediently.  The thought didn't even cross her mind that Helen wouldn't be
able to tell if she didn't actually lick it - all she considered was that
she had to do as she was told.  The gimp allowed her to come up for air a
few times, in between long bouts of tonguing the girl's damp cunt while the
audience watched and heckled.  The physical response from 212 was minor:
eventually the wetness took on a less bitter flavour, and a slimier
consistency, but she didn't seem conscious enough to fully realise what was
happening.



   Eventually she was allowed to pull her face back and get the first
proper lungful of air in a long while.  Perhaps Helen had decided that Emma
had done a good job.  She hoped so.  She shuffled away from 212 and knelt
with her hands in her lap, awaiting the next instructions from her
mistress. Opposite her, the supine girl was making nonsense sounds, shaking
her head weakly.  She let out a few, pathetic sobs as the attendant dragged
her from the arena by her wrist.



   "Good girl, 641," said Helen.  "I see you haven't forgotten all of your
training.  Even if you did need a little encouragement.  I think it's time
for round three with the gimp, now.  Of course, all of you know what
happens in round three."

   There were knowing sounds of approval from the spectators.



   Behind Emma, there was the sound of a zipper being unzipped slowly and
deliberately.  There was a rustle of leather.  She turned to look behind
her, and saw that the gimp had revealed itself to be male.  The gimp also
appeared to be quite excited - his cock was protruding firmly through the
zippered seams of the suit, with no foreskin to cover its engorged, purple
head.  He came striding towards Emma, who remained kneeling, not wanting to
risk making any more mistakes by misbehaving.



   "Damn it 641, at least pretend to run away!"



   She jogged away half-heartedly from the approaching figure and his
eager, swollen member.  He was holding on to himself with one hand, rubbing
back and forth to maintain his erection.  The gimp didn't seem to be shy
about exposing himself in front of such an audience, even going so far as
to waggle his cock at nearby onlookers, eliciting coarse laughter.



   "Shock her again!" someone shouted.

   "Get the whip!"



   Emma backed away from the approaching gimp, and the crowd shouted more
unpleasant suggestions.  Her back bumped against the wall, and she made a
brief show of trying to sidestep before the gimp lunged forward, grabbing
her around the throat.  She clutched at his forearm, which had no effect at
all.  Tendons and muscles in her neck seared with agony as she felt her
feet leave the floor for a moment, and the gimp tore her away from the
wall, throwing her down hard.  The drop stunned her, and her vision went
black for a moment.  When it returned she was in the centre of the arena,
and the crowd were whooping and cheering.  The gimp pulled her upright,
knees scuffing against the floor as she found her balance.



   The gimp grabbed her around the face, prying her mouth open and forcing
his cock inside.  His other hand, at the back of her head, forced her face
into his leathery crotch, and her throat convulsed as his penis grazed the
back of her tongue and rested there for several, long seconds.



   She was allowed to pull back, and a silvery strand of precum and saliva
hung between her lips and the gimp's prick as they parted.  Whether she
moved her lips or tongue didn't seem to make any difference to the gimp's
violent thrusts as he fucked her mouth relentlessly.  She fought back
rising bile as he drove himself further in each time.  Her stomach churned.
She turned her head to the side to avoid the next mouthful, and retched
hard.  The reactions around her were a mixture of delight and disgust as
her body rejected what was happening.  Emma's stomach heaved, and she added
to the mess on the floor.  Some of the audience groaned, and looked away.
Even the gimp took a step back to wait until she was finished.



   "Oh dear, 641." Helen's voice, once again sounding unimpressed.  "Maybe
some more oral training's needed as well.  I suppose the gimp will have to
finish things off the traditional way."



   Emma flopped over onto her front as he manhandled her; she was
completely drained, unable to offer even token resistance.  One arm ended
up in the warm mess she had made, but she didn't have the will to move it
away.  She looked up to the crowd through watering eyes to see that the
display had been too much for some of them, who had begun to leave.  Others
remained to watch, more amused than ever.  She somehow noticed and fixated
on one, specific man seated in the back row, slumped down in an
uncomfortable-looking position, glancing around furtively with his hand
down his trousers.



   "Fuck her ass!" someone called.



   She barely felt it go in.  Her lower body was lifted from the floor as
the gimp hoisted her by the thighs, remaining standing while he penetrated
her.  It wasn't nearly as bad as the earlier, four-fingered insertion.  In
comparison, the gimp's already-wet cock was moving with ease.  Almost a
relief.  Almost, she found herself thinking, enjoyable.



   She lay with her head to one side, feeling the steady back-and-forth
lurch of her body as the gimp pumped into her over and over.  Her cunt was
becoming wet again, even though the gimp wasn't doing anything to that
particular hole.  Whatever is happening to me must feel good, she thought,
if my body responds like that.



   She hoped she had redeemed herself of her earlier outburst.  Helen
didn't seem to be angry any more, but that didn't necessarily mean
anything, given her highly variable moods.  Emma looked up, to see that her
mistress was smiling.


   Emma smiled too.