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.

