Still winded, Kriss tried to protest as she felt the man's hand get into her bra and maul the sweaty skin of her breasts. The fingers were kneading her flesh, pinching her nipples, twisting them, as if they were mere toys. At last, she recovered her breath and began to express her anger, although the combination of the string secured around her neck and the wooden edge pressing against her throat made her voice croaking and weak.<br/><br/>At last he left her breasts alone, although he failed to put her clothes back in place. Her tank top was all trussed up over her breasts and her bra was partly disturbed. The right cup, whose strap had been cut during the branding of her shoulder, was all crumpled, leaving the upper side of her breasts bare, with hints of her darker areola. Of course, Kriss could not see it nor even feel it.<br/><br/>As the man backed up from her, she tried again to kick her booted foot at him but missed. The violent move made her swing under the yoke, causing it to saw into her imprisoned neck and wrists. She heard him move around and climb over some metallic thing, and then his voice came from above and in front of her.<br/><br/>As the string was released she was at last able to breathe almost normally, although the yoke was pressing hard against her throat. She had to constantly pull on her arms to lift her body to avoid her air supply from being cut off as she hanged by her neck. She wondered how long she would be able to keep that position before choking to death.<br/><br/>Then the man tried to pull the bag off her head, not realising that it had been sewed to her face. She screamed a piercing screech as he yanked hard on her pierced septum and ear lobes. He pulled a few more times until he realised what was wrong. Pulling a short knife out of his pocket, he cut the bag around the places where the wire was passing through the canvas. Only then was he able to pull the bag completely off.<br/><br/>Kriss' face was puffy and red, glistening with sweat. Her eyes were bloodshot, irritated by dust. Her head was sunk in the yoke hole, kept immobile and angled upward. Her jaws were clenched tight and she was glaring at Q-ball. A greasy red lock was passing across her face, sticking to her skin.<br/><br/><strong>"Listen, "</strong>she said in her strangled voice,<strong>"I'm sure we can reach a deal. I am from the Battery Fort. Bring me there safely and... Hey, are you listening to me?"</strong><br/><br/>As she was trying to negotiate, Q-Ball had freed his cock, which was now standing erect and throbbing a dozen of inches from her face. She could smell its musky, fishy scent.<br/><br/><strong>"What are you doing? Stop that! Stop immediately! Do you hear me? STOP!!!!"</strong><br/><br/>As the man began to stroke his manhood, Kriss realised what his intention was. She tried to turn her head away, but as most of her weight was resting on her jaws and throat, she could not. The yoke was forcing her to look straight at the man's crotch. She became frantic. Her legs flailed around, looking for something to stand on. But there was nothing and she could not even look down and see it. Her muscles clenched, she kicked forward and her boot banged hard against the front of the vehicle, sending loud clanging sounds around the warehouse.<br/><br/>She saw the man freeze and barely had the time to clench her eyes shut. She felt the hot streams land on her face in thick, fat ropes of semen. She could feel it stick to her skin and slowly dribble down, some of it pooling in her eyes sockets. The strong smell was making her feel nauseous. And above all she felt utterly humiliated. That man was treating her like a sexual object. Or not even an object, a mere picture, a pin-up. There was not the least respect or acknowledgement that she might have feelings.<br/><br/>She wanted to insult him, but two streaks of sperm were crossing her tightly shut lips, their stench wafting right into her flaring nostrils. If she opened her mouth now, the foul stuff would inevitably enter her mouth, which would be the ultimate degradation. She did not dare to open her eyes for the same reason.<br/><br/>But when she heard him jump from the truck and go behind her, she felt forced to open her eyes to see what he was going to do. As she did, the sticky matter infiltrated itself between her eye lids and blurred her vision. She was yanked backward and fell from the fork. She landed awkwardly on her feet, her wounded one sending a spear of pain up her lower leg. The yoke swung heavily and she was unable to resist its momentum. She staggered backward, tripped onto something and fell heavily on her back. As again she felt the violent jolt in her skull and neck, she yelped in pain and felt the foul taste of sperm invade her mouth. A loud, furious roar echoed through the hangar as she expressed out her accumulated frustration.<br/><br/>Her vision was still blurry but she could see the man walking away.<br/><br/>"Come back! Come back here cowardly bastard! COME BACK!!!!" she yelled. But the man did not even bother to look at her.<br/><br/>Kriss' throat tightened. Now that her furor had found its way out, only sadness and humiliation remained. She had never felt so helpless and humiliated. She was at the mercy of the Manhattan's weakest jerks, with absolutely no way to escape or defend herself. She felt tears mounting to her eyes and violently breathed in several time to stop them. She would not leave anybody see how powerless she felt. This was her last hold on herself, her last bit of control and she would not let it go.<br/><br/><hr/><br/>Again she was finding herself on her back, her neck pinned down to the floor by the weight of the yoke. She felt like an upside-down turtle, unable to get back on her feet. A couple of times she tried to sit up, jerking her legs, stretching them forward while pulling on her strong abs. But the combined weight of her upper body and the piece of timber proved too much. Moreover, she could still feel the aching caused by Q-Ball's pummelling of her mid-section.<br/><br/>Frustrated, she considered her options. Would she remain here, on her back, waiting for someone to find her or die from thirst? Would she try to slide on the ground by pushing on her feet? But with her bare almost naked, branded and her left heel hurt, it would be a pretty miserable affair, which could be stopped by the least obstacle. No, she had to find a way to get back on her feet.<br/><br/>Abandoning brute force, Kriss attempted a new approach. She curled her long, athletic legs up to her torso and then swung them to her left side. In the same move, she twisted her waist while trying to brace herself on her left elbow. She felt the right end of the yoke begin to leave the ground, its bell ringing. She smiled wearily and continued her effort, slowly lifting the yoke off the floor while resting upon its left-hand extremity.The position was awkward, her body was contorted and she was shaking with the effort, but at last she managed to get on her knees. From there, she was able to straight up her torso, bringing the yoke off the ground and squarely on her shoulder. Then, she only had to stand back up, while being cautious not to swing it too far from equilibrium to avoid tumbling back down.<br/><br/>The effort had been violent and Kris braced her back against the truck to recover some strength. She could still feel and smell the sperm that had been smeared all over her face and into her hair. She could feel it beginning to dry. She considered rubbing her face against the rusty hull of the truck to wash it off, but she realised it would probably only make things worse.<br/><br/>Eventually, she limped out of the hangar, back to the street. Now that she could see, walking was much easier. She could choose her way, avoid the biggest obstacles and orientate herself. As she exited the warehouse, she was glad to see that she had chosen the right direction, when blind. She could still see the cathedral, one block away from her position. Turning her back to it, she began to limp her way along the fifth avenue. In the night, she could not see more than a hundred of yards away, but she knew that, far away in front of her, there was the Hudson channel and the Battery Fort, her home...