At first, when Samuel expressed disgust at her over-abused crotch, Kriss felt relieved, thinking he would renounce raping her, but when she heard what he had in mind, she began to protest and to struggle. Once again, the yoke rendered her helpless. It was so easy to pin her down with it. She managed to land a few kicks but they did not seem to disturb the sturdy man. She also called for help, hoping the first man would come and rescue her but nobody came to help her.<br/><br/>She saw her tormentor take some white stuff in a box but she could not determine what it was until he rammed it into her gaping vagina. The contact was disagreeable, dry and itching. Then, when she shoved his fist into her hole, she screamed in agony, arching her back, lifting her butt from the bed, bracing on her feet as she shook her hips in a vain attempt to escape the torture. At first, she could only feel the pain coming from the stretching of her inner walls. Even her now over-stretched pussy had difficulty accepting that big fist. The huge ram was moving up and down her sore channel, causing more damage. Progressively, as her vagina accustomed itself to the stretching, she began to feel the pain caused by the glass fibre abrasion. This pain increased in intensity as the man continued his torture. Kriss' eyes were bulging out, her face was distorted by the agony. She kept screaming her agony while banging her skull against the bed. Her arms were twisting and yanking on the yoke, trying to pull her broken hands free.<br/><br/>When the man stopped his ramming, Kriss hardly noticed it and kept screaming. Suddenly, Samuel's huge hand invaded her sight field, gloved and covered with glass fibre powder and blood. She tried to turn a head away, without success. He crushed her nose and lips without the least pity, cutting her air supply. She could not turn head, she could not escape the pressure, she could not breathe. As her craving for fresh air, she bit into the plastic-glove palm of her aggressor but this did not seem to affect him. Instead, she filled her mouth with the irritant powder. Progressively, her strength weakened, her vision narrowed, until she passed out.<br/><br/><div align="center">***</div><br/>Pain woke her up suddenly. Her eyes flashed open to see the face of the man who had rammed his fist into her pussy. The pain in her vagina was still very present but there was also a powerful itching in the whole crotch area, both inside and outside. The next thing that came to her mind was the pain in her breasts, as if they were prickled with many pins. She tried to look down at her chest but the yoke was preventing her from lowering her chin enough to look at her breasts. She could only see their tips pressing against the front of an old shirt, which was maculated with blood. Fresh blood. Probably her own, by the pain she was feeling.<br/><br/>She moaned and tried to move. The yoke was still there, holding her down by its weight. As she squirmed, she felt things rubbing against the front of her shirt. Whatever had been pierced through the skin of her breasts, it was still there. The man was grinning at her. She tried to speak but her tongue had a strange reaction when she tried to move it and a flash of pain exploded in her mouth. There was something rather big inside it, pinned to the tip of her speak organ. It was causing throbbing pain. But there was more to, something that the pain was preventing her from fully grasping. Her eyes were burning with fear and hate as she looked at the man. She wanted to ask her what he had done to her but she did not dare to move her tongue again.<br/><br/>The man made a few steps away from her and seemed to invite her to stand up, although he did not make any move to help her. Kriss was too proud to remain lying on the street. Once again she began the painful and difficult exercise of straightening herself, lifting the heavy yoke from the floor and stand up. She first had to twist her lower body, extending her legs to use their weight to counterbalance the yoke. That was when she realised that she was wearing shoes and pants. Then she could progressively brace on one end of the yoke to push her upper body up. This was the tricky part and it always took several attempts. By the time she managed to get on her knees, she was once again covered in sweat and panting heavily. The things pinned in her breasts were rubbing against her shirt as twisted and contorted her torso. From that point, she only had to stand up on her feet while taking care not to let the yoke get her off balance.<br/><br/>At last she was on her feet again. The shoes were too small but at least were regular ones. She looked around, getting her bearings. The man had been right. She was several blocks closer to her destination. This was at least a good point.