From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)
<h1 id="title">Elliquiy Role Playing Forums</h1>
		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Extreme =&gt; Extreme Small Groups =&gt; Topic started by: AurelieCatena on 24-02-2012, 13:09:09</h2>
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				Title: <strong>From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>24-02-2012, 13:09:09</strong>
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				OOC thread (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=132802)<br>Kriss' current status (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=132802.msg5909056#msg5909056)<br><em>We are open to sadistic contributors</em><br><br><span style="font-size: 14pt;" class="bbc_size"><strong>From St-Patrick to Battery Park</strong></span><br><div class="floatright"><div align="center"><br>Manhattan: Battery Park fort (A) and St-Patrick cathedral (B) (http://maps.google.com/maps?saddr=Battery+Park,+NY&amp;amp;daddr=St.+Patrick+cathedral,+NY&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;sll=40.723258,-73.996096&amp;amp;sspn=0.052819,0.065145&amp;amp;geocode=FV4VbQIdZpaW-yESnEOYXkZwvg%3BFTLtbQIdLDWX-yFbqjbgNTRgiA&amp;amp;dirflg=w&amp;amp;mra=ls&amp;amp;t=m&amp;amp;ie=UTF8&amp;amp;ll=40.730869,-73.99704&amp;amp;spn=0.091057,0.102997&amp;amp;z=12&amp;amp;output=embed)</div></div>New-York, 2018. The social unrest that has followed the Great World Krach has definitively wreaked havoc on the western world. With the collapse of the authority, the military and the police, the city has fallen into chaos. The only law respected by all and everybody is the Law of the Jungle. The urban jungle in the present case. Most peoples are surviving alone or in tiny groups, scavenging whatever they can find on the streets, barricading themselves into basements. There is no more electric power, no more fuel and thus no more cars. No firearms either as all the ammo was expended during the first two years of the urban battle. Everybody is now using all kinds of makeshift melee weapons made from bit and scraps.<br><br>Among this chaos, two groups have tried to organise themselves and collaborate to protect themselves against the anarchic looters. One group has barricaded itself in the Battery Park fort, at the tip of Manhattan. They are known as the "Batterists". The other group is occupying the remnants of St-Patrick's cathedral some 7 km to the north and are called the "Patricks". The two groups are fighting for dominance.<br><br><strong>Kriss</strong> was one of the most skilled scouts of the Batterists. Fast and cunning, she was usually relying on stealth and speed to avoid danger, but she could also be a skilled warrior in case of need, using an old bicycle chain as whip to lash her opponents. She was accustomed to roam the streets, looking for canned food store and other useful goods, which her companions would then scavenger and bring back to the fort to be stored and processed.<br><br>The street looters knew her well and hated her because when she found a food source in their street, the Batterist's collectors soon came and emptied it to the last crumb. But she was always faster and smarter than them, and many of them were bearing the scars left by her bicycle chain. She was becoming bolder every day, scouting farther into the Patricks' territory. <br><br>One day, all her world crumbled to pieces. The Patricks had set up a trap for her, and she fell for it. She found herself blocked in a one-exit-only basement with 10 warriors soon rushing into it. She fought like a panther, wounded several of them but in the end the number overwhelmed her. She was knocked out, chained and brought to the cathedral.
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				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>24-02-2012, 13:20:28</strong>
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				<div class="floatright"><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body"> (http://maps.google.com/maps?ll=40.759066,-73.973598&amp;spn=0.002739,0.004361&amp;sll=37.0625,-95.677068&amp;sspn=46.630055,63.193359&amp;t=f&amp;ecpose=40.75857863,-73.97820245,91.46,82.05,79.329,0&amp;z=18)</div></div></div>In the St-Patrick cathedral, the whole community, about fifty peoples, was gathered in the main alley, attending the trial of their prisoner. The charges had been read: invasion of Patricks' territory, theft, trouble, disrespect, blasphemy,... the list went on and on. In the end, Dominus, the Grand Master of the Patricks and their supreme judge, stood up majestically and proclaimed, <strong>"Does anyone has anything to say for the defence of the prisoner? Speak now or forever hold your peace!"</strong><br><br>Only silence followed his question, so, after his stern, impressive eyes had scanned the assistance twice, Dominus emphatically said, <strong>"I hereby declare that the prisoner is guilty of all the charges mentioned beforehand. Accordingly she will be condemned to the Capital Punishment. As our Law, the law of the last civilised community of the World, prevents us from giving death, I condemn the prisoner to be banned from St-Patrick's cathedral and abandoned to the lawlessness of the streets. Bring the prisoner for her preparation!"</strong><br><br>A loud metal rattling could be heard echoing between the lofty walls. It was coming from a rusty metal barrel that two burly men were rolling on the stone floor. They brought it to the front of the assembly, where they heaved it upright. A faint sound of metal scraping came from its inside.<br><br>Dominus deliberately walked to the barrel. He unlocked the two padlocks that were holding its lid shut and removed it. The two men reached into the container and pulled out the body that had been curled into it for the last 12 hours. They dropped the prisoner on the floor and forced her to kneel down, facing the crowd.<br><br>Kriss was blinking and squinting as even the dim light reigning in the church was too much to her eyes, which had been kept in darkness for so long. Her body and limbs were stiff from the long stay in the cold, cramped space. In spite of the humble posture she was forced in and the thick chains that were holding her arms behind her back, tightly coiled around her wrists and elbows, she was still keeping some of her previous pride and imposing bearing. Her green eyes were shooting bullets as she stared at those looking at her, all those she met eyes with turned their face down, impressed. She was tall and athletic. They all knew her as she had often come near to the cathedral in her daring raids.<br><br>They used to call her the Grey Bitch because of the colour of her clothes, chosen to mix with the urban background. She was still wearing them since her capture: a black scarf was rolled and tied around her forehead to keep her long red, curly mane from getting into her face. Her torso was molded into a tight, dark-grey, tank-top that was leaving her well-delineated abs visible. Her black Perfecto jacket had been removed to leave her arms bare so that they could be chained properly. Her long, sinewy legs were hidden under dark-grey, dirty, baggy pants whose many pockets had been emptied of all the tools, food and weapons they used to contain. Finally, she was wearing a pair of black leather Doc Martens boots whose soles and toes were reinforced, a useful property in those streets that were scattered with rubble and broken glass.<br><br><strong>"Set up the yoke!"</strong> Dominus ordered.<br><br>A man brought what had been a sturdy wooden rail sleeper. It was a compact, dense, very hard and about 20-pound heavy, tar-filled piece of oak. It had been longitudinally sawed in two parts and three holes drilled into it, one designed to hold her neck and the two others her wrists.<br><br>Kriss's chains were removed and she was forced to lie back down on one of the pieces while the second one was applied upon it. She felt the neck half hole pressing against her throat while her arms were position on the sides of her head in their respective holes, leaving them folded at a wide angle. On each side, two bolts and nuts were drilled through the stocks and tightened with all the strength the two burly men could muster. Then a metal-strapping device was used to cinch five steel straps around both parts of the yoke. They were one-way tightening mechanisms ensuring that they could only removed with a proper metal-cutting tool. The holes holding her wrists had been carefully designed so as to be just too narrow for her limbs, causing her flesh to bulge on both end and ensure a secure grip. Moreover, the inside of the holes had been left coarse on purpose to prevent her from sliding her hands out. Finally, they fixed a fist-sized bell at both ends of the yoke.<br><br>During the whole process Kriss remained quiet and her face was only expressing rage. Her fists were clenched tight. The two men pulled her back on her knees, causing the bells to ring loudly. Only then did Kriss feel the whole weight of the restraint on her shoulder. Her face twitched. The yoke was heavy, in particular as it was resting on a small part of her neck. With her arms kept wide apart, she felt utterly helpless. She was also wondering whether she would have been able to stand up alone. But although doubts and anguish were creeping into her battle-hardened mind, none of them could be seen on her face that remained rigid, her jaws clenched tight and her stare steel-like. The only tell-tale sign of her anxiety was the faster-than-normal heaving of her glorious chest, whose firm and proud mounds were pressing forward against the front of her grey, stained tank-top.<br><br><strong>"Does anyone want to help the prisoner remember the price one has to pay when one dares to attack our community before we release her to the fate of the streets?"</strong> Dominus asked to the crowd. He saw several sadistic grins in the assembly and his eyes welcomed them to get to the forefront and do what they wanted to do.
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				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>tobisquestion</strong> on <strong>24-02-2012, 14:10:10</strong>
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				Dex was leaning casually against one of the pillars the whole time the charges were being read.&nbsp; He couldn't restrain a chuckle when Dominus appealed for anyone to speak in the prisoner's defence.&nbsp; He knew it was procedural...every man and woman in the room wanted to see the Grey Bitch suffer.&nbsp; Dex himself had only seen her once before, during a raid when he'd been on guard duty with two others.&nbsp; Those two others had been killed, and Dex himself had been knocked out.<br><br>He hadn't been part of the group who had apprehended Kriss either.&nbsp; So when she tumbled out of the barrell, it was the first proper look Dex had gotten of her since that one encounter a long time ago.&nbsp; And damn...he could swear he didn't remember her looking <em>so severely fuckable</em>.&nbsp; Maybe something to do with the fact that this time around she wasn't subjecting his friends to a violent death.&nbsp; Now she was just a helpless little pussy cat.<br><br>He sneered broadly when the invitation came for people to come forwards and make their own contribution to the 'justice' procedure.&nbsp; He wasted no time breaking into a stride towards the cruelly bound woman.&nbsp; Plenty of other people made it to her before him; variously spitting on her angrilly, slapping her head in mockery, or delivering restrained kicks to the girl's thighs as she knelt on the cold stone floor.&nbsp; A few of the bolder breathren tugged at her hair and yelled taunts in her face.&nbsp; The whole time her resolve never faded, but there was no counterbalancing the fact that she was rendered totally incapacitated by the yoke.<br><br>When Dex got to her, he leaned in close and looked her right in the eye.<br><br>"Fuck," he said in a low voice, sharply slapping her cheek, "I wish I'd been one of the ones who'd caught you.&nbsp; I'd have had some fun with you before turning you in, that's for sure.&nbsp; Hell maybe some of them did!&nbsp; Lucky bastards.&nbsp; Too bad it's those scum out in the streets who'll get to enjoy you before you make it home...<em>if</em> you ever make it." <br><br>He looked at the crowd around him and sneered.&nbsp; "What do you say we give this bitch whore a little something to remember us by?"
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				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>applesauce</strong> on <strong>25-02-2012, 09:55:05</strong>
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				Lorraine growled, her face still salty from tears. Her friend's ring still in her white-knuckled hands,<br>she knew what she had to do to this... animal (not even a woman) on the stage. She would get<br>her hands on her and avenge her friend's death, and the deaths of those around her. There once<br>were five in her group of hunters, but now there remained none but one; her. <br><br>A bitter expression on her face, she almost ran up to the woman and gave her a kick to the woman's<br>stomach. Almost smiling as she watched the woman's face scrunch up in pain, she was pulled back by<br>others who wanted a turn. That wasn't enough for Lorraine however. <br><br>She wanted more.<br><br>She stepped back in front of the woman and hissed at her the words,<br><br>"Cita mors ruit, we'll be seeing each other again soon I think."<br><br>Leaving the crowd after she spat on the prisoner, she would avenge her friends' deaths in the wasteland, away from<br>the prying eyes of the city. There would be pain and suffering, but not death. She wanted to send<br>a message to those who would betray her people once more, and taste the blood of her enemy<br>while she was at it.<br><br>Oh how perfect this would be.
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				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>eBadger</strong> on <strong>26-02-2012, 03:41:44</strong>
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				"Enough!"&nbsp; &nbsp;The deep voice tore through the frenzy of the crowd like the roll of thunder, and they slowly quieted and moved aside.&nbsp; It wasn't fear that drove them, however, or even respect - every pair of eyes glittered with eager anticipation.&nbsp; "Time for the bitch's branding!"&nbsp; <br><br>A massive man appeared through the crowd.&nbsp; He was dressed in black jump boots beneath ragged military fatigues; likely he'd either he'd been a former soldier or taken the garments as a trophy from one.&nbsp; His ebony chest, however, was bare.&nbsp; The skin was hairless, glistening with sweat and adorned with dozens of brands of his own: names of conquered enemies and fallen comrades, pictures of battles and landmarks, even the backwards-written imprint of what must have been some bronze plaque, heated and pressed to his shoulder.&nbsp; It was a complete history of the Patrick's.&nbsp; <br><br>His head was wrapped in a black mask that left only his eyes bare.&nbsp; It was, after all, the traditional costume of an executioner.&nbsp; <br><br>"I am the Record Keeper, filth.&nbsp; I bear the glory of our tribe, to teach all who see.&nbsp; You, slut, shall bear the shame of your own."&nbsp; He set a metal bucket on the slate floor with a clang, a cloud of sparks and smoke drifting up towards the cieling: it was filled with glowing coals, from which several metal handles protruded.&nbsp; <br><br>"If you admit to your foul crimes, I am allowed to exempt you from the brand of a liar."&nbsp; He watched the spit drip down the girl's face as he waited for her to speak.&nbsp; 
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				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>tobisquestion</strong> on <strong>26-02-2012, 08:10:48</strong>
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				Almost as if in answer to his own suggestion, the Record Keeper's arrival made Dex's chest tighten with excitement.&nbsp; He'd honestly wondered if there would be something like this.&nbsp; If anything could break the bitches resolve, it would surely be the imposing figure coming at her with a bucket of hot coals.&nbsp; He sneered at the Record Keepers words and chuckled.&nbsp; <em>Yeah...'allowed to exempt'...but not obliged.</em>&nbsp; For his part, Dex hoped that Kriss would remain defiant right up until the searing iron was pressed to her flesh.&nbsp; At least he'd get to hear her scream in anguish once before she was sent on her way.<br><br>He remained close by; he was determined to have an active hand in this, especially if it meant manhandling her and exposing a choice piece of flesh to be branded.
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				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>27-02-2012, 09:50:09</strong>
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				Kriss's face did not budge but inwardly she was very cruelly resenting the humiliation as, one after another, the Patricks walked to her. Most of them just spat at her face. The yoke was preventing her from moving her head and dodge it and thus the spittoons were accumulating across her features and into her hair. At one point, she tried to spit at the man who had spat at her in response but as she was in a lower position, her own projection did not reach him. Some others slapped her in the face, groped her breasts through her tank-top, pinched her nipples or yanked at her hair. All the time she remained stoic, staring far away, ignoring the insults and aggressions. She knew that reacting to their attacks would only excite them more.<br><br>Then came this man who whispered to her ear about rape. It reminded her how she had been tricked into that basement, how she had been overpowered. And then the gang bang as the survivors lowered her pants and panties and raped her from behind while she was chained and dazzled. They had all cum into her pussy before setting her clothes back in place. She could still feel their sperm dribbling into her panties and the mere idea was bringing her to the verge of nausea. All the while she had been cursing them and threatening them. And she meant it. She had sworn to kill them all.<br><br>And now this man was here, taunting her, reminding her of those hated moments. As he turned away to address his peers, she twisted her torso, swinging the heavy yoke at the side of his knees. But she was stopped in the middle of the move. The two men that were guarding her, standing slightly behind her grabbed the yoke just before it hit the man's legs and yanked her back in position. From this moment on, they kept their hands poised on the yoke. The Grey Bitch could still bite...<br><br>Then came that woman. Kriss had calmed down and was again receiving the humiliations stoically. She barely looked at her when she got closer. The kick in her belly took her - and her guards - totally by surprise. She barely had the time to contract her abs. The powerful blow got past her defences and, escaping the grip of her guards, she doubled over, moaning and coughing. She retched a few times while the angry guards yanked her back up by her hair. Her face was contorted with pain as she tried to recover her breath. The woman spat at her face and said something she could not understand. Her ears were still ringing.<br><br>More humiliations later, Kriss had recovered some of her composure. But now, whenever someone approached her, she was readying herself against any vicious kick. At last, it seemed everybody had expressed her or his wrath against her or what she was standing for. And then came that black, masked man, everybody moving aside as he walked. Kriss stiffened. In particular as he dropped the bucket full of glowing embers. The prisoner felt a shiver run down her spine and hardened her face, not to show her fear.<br><br>The man got closer. The smell of his musky sweat wafted to her flaring nostrils. She listened to his words attentively but never deigned to look at his eyes. Hers were kept fixed on the coloured-glass rose that was above the cathedral's main entrance. At last, as she awaited for her answer, she turned her cold eyes on him and said <strong>"Just do what you have to do and leave me alone. I don't fear you, bastard!"</strong><br><br>And with that, she attempted to spit at the masked face.
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				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>eBadger</strong> on <strong>27-02-2012, 10:43:41</strong>
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				A bit of spittle splattered on the black hood.&nbsp; The man didn't even try to dodge it, just laughed infectiously at the pitiful act of defiance.&nbsp; "I expected more from you, somehow.&nbsp; Martyrdom.&nbsp; Killed attempting to escape. Or rather than be captured.&nbsp; Not this childish petulance."&nbsp; He leaned closer, daring her to spit again, not caring if she did.&nbsp; "I heard what they did to you, in that basement.&nbsp; It's going on my left arm," he showed the blank spot, "so everyone will know how your story ended."&nbsp; <br><br>He took a scrap of leather from his pocket and wrapped it around one of the metal rods, pulling the brand loose with the crackle of sparks and a cloud of dust.&nbsp; "The first sentence - the mark of the Murderer!"&nbsp; He held it aloft to the raucous cheering of the crowd as the flanking guards took a firmer grip on the yoke and pulled up the front of her shirt to display her bare stomach and black bra.&nbsp; <br><br>The end of the rod held in the Keeper's hands glowed a bright, cherry red; the patchwork assembly of scavenged metal, it was niether even nor artful.&nbsp; It wasn't even spelled correctly, either from incompetence, a complete lack of concern, or petty cruelty: MERDRER.&nbsp; "If you struggle and blur the mark, we do it again, bitch.&nbsp; Hold still and show some of that fucking backbone you're supposed to have."&nbsp; He waited a moment for anticipation, goading the crowd into a frenzy and gesturing more men into place on her legs if necessary, to lift them and pull them wide.&nbsp; Then he stepped forward with a wordless shout and drove the brand into her stomach like a punch.&nbsp; It was longer than necessary, and burned deep; charred skin stuck and tore free as he pulled it back.&nbsp; The air reeked of burning meat.&nbsp; <br><br>"Two more, cunt."&nbsp; The Keeper's delight couldn't be hidden behind his mask.&nbsp; He left the shirt raised and&nbsp; stepped behind her with a new brand, the guards both holding her in place and keeping her upright, now.&nbsp; A free hand dipped low to cup her ass, felt between her legs where the spent cum of a dozen men had soaked through.&nbsp; "The slut likes it.&nbsp; She's wet as a bitch staked out for breeding!"&nbsp; A chorus of laughter followed, almost blocking the sound of tearing cloth as he grabbed hold of the back of her shirt and pulled.&nbsp; The cloth split open nearly to the base, exposing the smooth, pale skin of her back.&nbsp; There was less pomp this time.&nbsp; "The mark of the Thief!"&nbsp; She'd caught a glimpse of it; again the horrifying joke of spelling, "THEAF".&nbsp; The letters were larger on this one as well.&nbsp; <br><br>It didn't hit the center of her back, but slightly to the right and high; the bra strap burned away instantly, a bit of plastic clasp melting to a molten flow down her shoulder, and again the wet sizzle and charcoal smell of an overdone roast.&nbsp; <br><br>The Keeper laughed at her pain.&nbsp; "Think of the widows you left us.&nbsp; The children who starved because you took their food.&nbsp; This is too good for you.&nbsp; Drop her!"&nbsp; At the command all the guards released their hold simultaneously, letting the sudden weight of the yoke drag her down.&nbsp; Seeing a momentary struggle to stay upright - or simply a tottering balance - one guard kicked out at the back of her knee, collapsing it.&nbsp; Without hands to stop the fall, the girl hit the stone hard, her skull bouncing of the rock.&nbsp; Instantly they were on her again, turning her onto her stomach - the brand there grinding into the dust and pebbles - and sitting on her back.&nbsp; <br><br>A chain was wrapped around her left shin, pulled tightly by two men to hold it still.&nbsp; The Keeper moved forward and made short work of the laces with a knife, tossing the shoe into the crowd where it was claimed as a souvenier.&nbsp; <br><br>"The mark of the Liar.&nbsp; Let it haunt you every step of the way, bitch."&nbsp; This time there was little to see past all the bodies holding her down, although she could hear the clatter of the bucket and the sparks when the brand was removed.&nbsp; Then sudden fire erupted on the bottom of her left foot, burning into the heel - where every step would now drive the bare wound into the dirt, rocks, glass and infection of the street - and the delicate center, which it cut through like butter.&nbsp; She would never walk without a limp again; even if she survived this night her days of clever sneaking were over.&nbsp; <br><br>"I'm done with the whore.&nbsp; Send it out to die."&nbsp; 
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				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>27-02-2012, 12:35:07</strong>
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				Kriss' eyes could not help but stare at the glowing brand which the executioner was brandishing in front of her. She could already feel its heat. A bead of sweat dribbled down her temple. Her heart was pounding fast. Her mind was screaming <em>noooooo</em> but no sound crossed past her lips. The white-orange glow was shifting across the letters, hypnotising her, blinding her.<br><br>She felt her yoke being gripped more tightly. Her knees were pulled apart and two men sat on her calves, one on each leg, pinning them into the stone floor. An arm brushed across her face, seized the lower hem of her top and pulled it up over her breasts, displaying her black sport bra. Her proud boobs were firmly standing up, like shells pointed at the crowd, their nipples hard and erect against the black fabric. The warrioress contracted all her muscles. Those in her arms bulged like sinewy ropes as she tried one again to pull her hands out of their holes. Her hard abs were forming like a pillar of steel under ribs. She was sweating profusely now, perspiration forming rivulets down her torso. Her mind was panicking as the glowing brand remained poised in front of her. Was it going to burn her breasts? Or a belly? Kriss' whole mind was centered on that question, unable to think to anything else.<br><br>The punching of the brand into her stomach took her by surprise. Her abs tried to resist, to block the powerful blow, but the intense heat seared through them and the pain forced them to relax. The glowing metal sank deeper into her skin and her belly hollowed under the impact. Winded, she felt a stream of bile shoot up her oesophagus and its bitterness filled her mouth. She wanted to double over but the men holding the yoke did not allowed it. Her face changed to a mask of horrified agony, her mouth gaping wide as she tried to breathe in some air. The brand was kept against her belly, her flesh sizzling, the sound of it filling her ears. Lines of black smoke were snaking up her sweaty torso, coming from the charred flesh. As the pain from the punch receded, that caused by the actual burning of her body grew comparatively stronger.<br><br>At last, the brand was ripped&nbsp; from her belly. At last, Kriss succeeded in filling her aching lungs with air, mixed with the emanations from her own burned flesh. At last she was allowed to express the inhuman agony she was feeling. Her scream echoed through the cathedral.<br><br>It took her some time to recover. It felt as if the brand was still burning her belly even though it had left it. The wound was still burning, sending throbs of agony to her blank mind. After her long, ear-piercing screaming, she had remained silent, her breath hissing through her clenched teeth, her wide-open eyes looking at nothing in particular. She was panting heavily. After some time, she gathered the courage to look down at her marred belly, to see what had been done to her, to look at the swollen, charred, blistered letters impressed into her formerly spotless skin. But her courage was frustrated. The yoke was too wide. It prevented her chin to dip down, it was preventing to look at her belly. She was left with her imagination.<br><br>The yanking and tearing of the back of her tank top brought her back to the instant. She could feel the fresh air against her perspiring upper back. And she knew the torture was going to start again. Now she was standing up, her legs kept wide apart by strong hands. Someone stepped forward, collected her curly red mane and pulled it - not too gently - forward, so as to clear access to her back. The fierce pounding of her heart started again. <em>Not again!</em> She thought. For a moment she felt the abject urge to beg the executioner to stop. She had to fight her willingness to accept anything in exchange for being left alone. She was on the verge of crying when the hissing sound of red-hot iron sizzling into flesh reached her ears, at the same time was blank pain exploded in her back.<br><br>Her spine arched backwards, a long, high-pitched howl reverberated between the tall stone pillars, her vision darkened. As she fought against unconsciousness, the back of her mind registered the snapping of her right bra strap. Its front part got loose and the upper side of her bra cup drooped, revealing more of her boob.<br><br>Suddenly, all the hands that had been gripping her flesh let go off. She staggered, the weight of her yoke pulling her down. Just as she was about to recover her balance, someone kicked the back of her knees and she collapsed backward. She yanked forcefully on her arms to stop her fall but only succeeded in twisting the yoke to her right and putting more strain on her shoulders. Her butty crashed on the stone floor, immediately followed by the right end of the yoke. There was a powerful jolt against her neck and then the yoke landed hard. Kriss had been bracing herself for the shock but could not help her skull from banging against the ground, making her feel as if her skull were ringing like a bell. Or maybe those were the bells fixed to the yoke... She was not sure.<br><br>She was lying on her back, panting heavily, feeling the cool stone somehow soothing the burning pain on her right shoulder blade where the brand had just been applied. As her vision cleared, she tried to straighten herself only to find that the yoke was too heavy to allow her to sit up directly. She curled her legs up, panting heavily.<br><br>Men surrounded her again and flipped her effortlessly on her belly. Her firm breasts were pressed into the floor by the weight of the yoke and she gritted her teeth. More weight was added as someone sat on her back, pinning her down, almost preventing her from breathing. She hollowed her belly in a desperate attempt to prevent her branded wound from grinding against the dusty floor.<br><br>Her left leg was yanked widely aside and two men sat on it, ensuring it would not budge, however strong she might try to kick. Her right leg too was gripped and pinned down, although with less savagery. The crotch of her baggy pants were now fully exposed and everybody could testify that there was indeed a darker, wet spot all over the area. Most thought she had been peeing herself, though.<br><br>Kriss tried to look behind her but with two men sitting on the yoke her horizon did not go beyond the stone slabs she was crushed against and the shoes of those crowding around to see her debasement. When she felt her shoe removed, she knew which would be the next target of the executioner. The man threw her leather boot away and then pealed her sweat-gorged black sock of her foot. Bathing was a luxury that could rarely be indulged with in those days. Moreover, shoes being a very sought-after commodity, it was always safer to sleep with one's shoes on, lest someone would steal them during your sleep. Accordingly, it had been days, or maybe weeks since the last time Kriss had removed hers as the state of her sock vibrantly testified.<br><br>Her legs was pressed harder against the stone, nearly preventing her foot from moving. She was curling and uncurling her toes in a vain attempt to escape what was about to happen. A heavy boot crushed them against the floor, completing the immobilisation of her foot. Again, she wanted to beg for pity but she had no more air in her lungs. The searing pain shot through her exposed heel and down to the middle of her sole. Her toes barely twitched. White throbs of pain coursed up her nerves as the flesh burned and charred, leaving ugly, black blisters and deeply embedded marks.<br><br>At last, on a Keeper's order, everybody stood off the condemned body. Gasping and panting, Kriss curled her legs up on her left side, twisting her torso as she could not lift the yoke. Her branded, bare foot was resting on her right boot, twitching and smoking. The Batterist scout was sobbing, her sweaty face resting in a pool of saliva - her own and that collected in her previous humiliation - and bile. The black scarf that had been holding her fiery mane at bay had slipped, allowing several matted red curls to stick against her face.<br><br>Slowly, she curled her legs higher against her chest and dragged the yoke backwards, until she was able to kneel and, from there, to stand up. She was resting on her right booted foot, keeping her left leg half folded and touching the floor only with the ball of her foot. She was panting heavily, her face was half hidden behind straying hair curls. The word "MERDRER" was imprinted in black with red outline across her belly, around her navel. She looked defeated but something sparkle in the back of her eyes was belying it.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>tobisquestion</strong> on <strong>27-02-2012, 21:20:58</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Despite the close call when she'd swiped at him with her yoke, Dex made sure to be as involved in the whole ordeal as possible.&nbsp; To him, the biggest crime of all was that that bitches smoking hot body had been captured, subdued, placed at the mercy of everyone...and it was just going to be sent out into the ruined city.&nbsp; Well...at least a few lucky fucks had managed to enjoy it...and he was going to get what little slice of the pie might remain.&nbsp; Even if that simply meant taking part in the restraining of her for the branding, and availing himself of every opportunity to roughly take hold of her wherever took his fancy.&nbsp; He was one of the ones holding her right leg as it was seared at the bottom - the cruellest of all the three brandings.&nbsp; For his part he took less of a thrill in her tortured screams of anguish, as in the unnoticed opportunity to watch her breasts lunge out as her back arched, and to run his hands up her legs and grope at her twitching crotch, imagining that the bucking and writhing of her body was the result of his touch.&nbsp; Needless to say nobody in the crowd was paying any attention to his roaming hands, and certainly Kriss' mind would be far from the molesting he was inflicting on her, blinding as she was by the sheer agony of the hot iron.<br><br>All too soon his fun was over, and she was left to climb to her feet under her own strength.&nbsp; Dex watched her entire body shaking with pain and emotion as he backed away with all the rest of the crowd.&nbsp; Scanning her from top to bottom, her pursed his lips and nodded.&nbsp; <em>Yep, even half cooked and covered in spit, she'd still get one from me with a fucking run-up.</em>&nbsp; His crotch was bulging at the mere thought of it.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>eBadger</strong> on <strong>28-02-2012, 06:19:38</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				John waited impatiently for the Keeper to finish his business.&nbsp; <em>Too fucking much pomp, you cranked out fuckwit</em>.&nbsp; If it had been up to him, they just would have strapped the whore down and raped her to death, but who the hell listened to a damn patrol captain anways?&nbsp; Not a goddamn one of em.&nbsp; But he was good enough to drag the bitch out past the barricade.&nbsp; <em>No fucking appreciation for hard work</em>.&nbsp; <br><br>He glanced over the prisoner, inspecting her bonds - nicely secure, at least they did that right - and the likelihood she'd be able to walk out the gate.&nbsp; Not many were; not that it would stop them.&nbsp; They'd just drag her to the end of Patrick's home territory if they had to; although the cement would take the flesh off like a cheese grater and leave a mess that always attracted the flies.&nbsp; He spared a glance for her assets, too; she was quite a piece of ass, he admitted.&nbsp; By morning, though, she'd probably be pieces of ass.&nbsp; <em>What a fucking waste.&nbsp; </em> <br><br>He slipped a black bag out of his pocket; really, just a waste rag that'd been stitched up a bit to cover the heads of the condemned.&nbsp; It was more tradition than anything else, but the Patrick's were smart enough not to show all their defenses to some skank as she's beaten and led out to the slaughter.&nbsp; He shoved the sack over the prisoner's head and made sure the seam was in the back.&nbsp; An old shoelace was wrapped around her neck, and John knotted it with a special grin of sadism; it wasn't enough to choke her, quite, but enough to make her think they might be trying to.&nbsp; <br><br>The escort was small, although it wasn't terribly far outside the barricade.&nbsp; John and five other men began to trudge out through the chill, late evening breeze; a few small drops of rain tickled their skin.&nbsp; Although they used the yoke to guide the condemned, she kept stumbling and hopping around on the damn foot like a three legged mongrel.&nbsp; <br><br>John scowled; he had better places to be.&nbsp; His wife was at home, probably leaking a river after seeing the bitch here get burnt up, and his dick was ready to pound her hard.&nbsp; "Crap, there has to be a better way than this shit," he mumbled.&nbsp; 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>28-02-2012, 09:40:21</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Kriss was trying to keep a straight face in spite of the wounds she could still feel burning in her flesh. This was a partial success, regularly broken by bouts of sharper pain when a waft of air touched a raw nerve ending. The wound that was causing her the most anxiety was the brand under her heel. It had none of the humiliating and defacing power of the other two, but wounds under the feet were the slowest to heal, if they at all did. Antiseptics, even alcohol were a rare commodity and she would have either to stay in bed with her foot bandaged and regularly washed or risk to lose her foot or even her leg. A snarl briefly twitched her sweaty face. <em>As if I had any choice. I'll have to walk on that wound all the way down to the Battery Fort. I'll make them pay for that!</em><br><br>Suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted as something blocked her sight. A piece of dirty canvas, a bag had been pulled over her face. She shook her head and even tried to swing her yoke, but it was securely held and she hardly budged, although her muscles bulged like cords around her neck and along her arms. She roared with frustration like a trapped panther. Then something was tightened around her neck, cutting into her wind pipe. Again she tried to shake her head. She contracted the muscles of her neck to fight against the strangling. But this was a losing battle. The thin string was cutting into her skin, tightening bit by bit, and she could only keep her muscles clenched for so much time. Progressively, the coils narrowed around her neck until her breath had been reduced to a laboured hiss. Then she felt the string tied behind her head, way out of reach of her fingers. The bag was securely kept in place. It was hiding her features entirely, except for the end of her red hair that could be seen emerging around her strangled neck.<br><br>At this moment, the guards at each end of her yoke pushed her forward and she had to limp on her good foot, resting her weight on the ball of her left foot and as briefly as possible. The yoke was making keeping balance not so easy a task. She was led along an alley bordered by angry Patricks on both sides. They kept spitting and slapping at her helpless body as she passed by them.<br><br>The bag was not totally opaque. She could still distinguish some lights through the canvas but it was difficult to make out what they were in the dim luminosity. But it did more than just blind her. With the string choking her, it was increasing the feeling of asphyxia as the air inside the bag was soon stale and thick with her respiration. Not that it had even felt fresh. It had probably be used to carry rotten potato peelings and its stench had made Kriss to retch. It was dusty too and it made the skin of her face and scalp scratchy. In front of her slightly gaping mouth, the bag was moving in rhythm with her jerky breathing.<br><br>She heard the creaking of a door pivoting on its hinge and then the cold air of the night made the skin of her arms and belly form goose-bumps. She could even feel some drops of rains. Turning her head around, she tried too determine on which side of the cathedral she was. <em>North, west or south?</em> It would be important to walk in the right direction. But in the middle of the night, with only the torches of her guards to illuminate the place, it was difficult to tell, through the canvas of the bag.<br><br>The ground was rough now, dented, cracked, full of pebbles and dirt. Walking one-footed was much more difficult than inside the church. The guards were pressing her forward but did not help her much. They were just making sure she would not break her neck right in front of the cathedral. They made her climb the mound of earth and detritus that surrounded the place and stumble down the other side. Each step was causing the yoke bells to ring loudly in the silent night, echoing among the lofty ruins of the sky-scrapers.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>eBadger</strong> on <strong>28-02-2012, 10:26:02</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				A moment later the leg of John’s worn blue jeans caught on a bit of rusted wire.&nbsp; It tore open a small hole.&nbsp; John swore - just the fucking thing he needed was to ruin a pair of pants, which were too damn hard to find these days - but then he got an idea.&nbsp; He wasn’t a particularly clever man, even he could admit that, but in the Old Days he used to make jewelry and had done a fair bit of twisting wires into shapes and forms.&nbsp; Back then it had been fine silver and custom designs, but like everything else, he’d make do with what he had. <br><br>Leaning down, he picked up the wire; it was an old coat hanger, rusted but still flexible.&nbsp; John pulled out a multitool - his pride and a mark of his wealth as a captain, it was only missing a couple pieces and had a functional knife, even.&nbsp; He used the tip to cut the wire off at a sharp point.&nbsp; "Hey, boyos, hold her still.&nbsp; I've got something fun in mind."&nbsp; He wiggled his eyebrows, a kid about to pull a prank, and they all laughed.&nbsp; When he moved in, though, John made damn sure the murderer’s legs were pinned down before moving in front - a kick could ruin his whole night, and his wife's too, for that matter. Then he felt around the cloth on the side of the prisoner's head until he found her ear.&nbsp; <br><br>"Hold her fucking head still!"&nbsp; <br><br>He jammed the sharpened end through her lobe with a grunt of effort - it wasn't as easy to jam it through the cloth and flesh as he thought it would be, and pulling the rough wire through the hole took some force.&nbsp; At least he got to enjoy the girl's reaction while he took out his tool again.&nbsp; A bit of clever twisting and there was enough of a ring to hold the thing in place, and still a couple more feet of wire to work with.&nbsp; Now, at least, he could control the girl's head better - if she jerked away too hard she'd lose her whole fucking ear.&nbsp; Leaving a hoop dangling down, John lined up the pointed end again, this time through the cloth and the girl's septum.&nbsp; It took a bit of doing; the cartilage was high, and the nares had to be forced wide.&nbsp; Finally, fed up, he just swore and shoved the wire through with the satisfying crunch of hard cartilage, a sound like a raw egg dropped on the floor.&nbsp; <br><br>It still didn't line up as well as he'd hoped, which he blamed on the bitch moving around and whining so much – it was amazing she could make any noise with how little breath she must be getting - so John had to jerk it around a bit and finally used the pliers again to get it all the way through.&nbsp; A few more bends brought in the dangling length on each side of her nose, twisting them together beneath the septum.&nbsp; Rust cracked off as he worked, the smell of iron strong from it and the rivulets of blood trickling steadily from beneath the hood.&nbsp; <br><br>The last piercing was through the opposite ear.&nbsp; He used the lobe again, liking the sense of symmetry, and managed the stab with a bit less effort; it seemed he was getting better with practice.&nbsp; It left just enough wire for another few turns, securing that end as well.&nbsp; <br><br>Stepping back, John admired his handiwork.&nbsp; It wasn't like the jewelry he used to make, in a different life, but for a coat hanger it didn't look half bad.&nbsp; The overall effect was two rings through each ear, joined to a coil beneath the girl's nose, with one hoop going up to pierce her septum and the other, larger hoop hanging down over her mouth.&nbsp; It had an interesting effect, a sort of metal Indian exotic thing, and the other men gave grudging words of approval although they still looked a bit confused about the purpose.&nbsp; <br><br>&nbsp;John scooped up a few old trash bags - he didn't have any rope on hand, and anyways it was too valuable for a use like this - and knotted them together, and then to the bottom hoop.&nbsp; "Makes a lead, see?&nbsp; Can stay out of kicking range, but still lead the bitch with a tug.&nbsp; Probably a really fucking painful tug, too!"&nbsp; He chuckled a bit, and demonstrated by jerking the lead around&nbsp; and then guiding the captive in a few circles.&nbsp; After letting a couple others try it, John's impatience began to war again with the thrill of his own cleverness.&nbsp; "Lets get a move on, boys."&nbsp; <br><br>They continued through the compound, then out through an old cargo container that served as the passage through the wall.&nbsp; The air outside the compound seemed to smell different, just a few feet away from the safety of patrolled walls; John always hate it.&nbsp; "Around the block.&nbsp; Any of you that want can fuck her there, then we'll get back inside."&nbsp; He jerked the girl along after him, eager to be rid of her and tired of her slow, sniveling pace.&nbsp; <br><br>The spot he chose for his men to rape her was an old fountain.&nbsp; It was empty now, of course – the plumbing hadn’t worked in fucking ever – but the rim was a nice height to bend a girl over.&nbsp; He’d even taken his wife here once, when they were younger and more adventurous: the journey a bit outside the walls for a bit of carnal fun was a common dare among the kids.&nbsp; <br><br>John pulled the bitch forward to the lip, dragging down on the lead to bend her over before tying it off to a bit of old plumbing.&nbsp; “Get it over with, we don’t have all fucking night.”&nbsp; It never even occurred to him that the position pushed her freshly branded stomach right up against the fountain edge, where every thrust would make it grind and rub.&nbsp; <br><br>Four of the other men took advantage of the opportunity for a bit of cunt and ass.&nbsp; They undid her belt, pulling her pants and underwear to her ankles and stepping up, one by one, to shove their filthy cocks into the exposed holes.&nbsp; The rest laughed, at first, and gave joking advice, but they grew bored midway through the second rape.&nbsp; After that it was mostly silence, except for a bit of a laugh when the third guy opted for her asshole instead and earned a particularly notable exclamation.&nbsp; <br><br>It was the last man who took forever.&nbsp; He complained about everything, too; that her holes were too stretched out to be any use, that the copious dripping rivulets of other men’s cum were grossing him out, and that shit and blood and piss were everywhere.&nbsp; Eventually he shivered a bit, his cock expunging a token jet of white semen onto the girl’s thighs, and then he zipped up.&nbsp; “Goddamn, for such a hot ass you’re a fucking lousy lay, bitch.”&nbsp; <br><br>They took a moment to put the slut’s pants back on – not out of kindness, but because they weren’t technically supposed to be gang raping her and if anyone was watching, the pants thing made it a bit too obvious.&nbsp; John thought about just leaving her like that – tied and bent over – but after a couple minutes of discussion they figured that if her corpse started rotting here they would probably smell it from the gates, which wasn’t fair to the guards there.&nbsp; Jerking the plastic bags loose, John gave her an almost affectionate pat on her well fucked ass.&nbsp; “Good luck.&nbsp; Sorry I didn’t give you a turn, too, nothing personal – wife just wouldn’t like it if I didn’t come home ready, you know?”&nbsp; <br><br>With a last round of slurs and jokes, the guards headed back towards the safety of the compound.&nbsp; <br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>28-02-2012, 11:56:24</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				With her head stuffed in that filthy bag, struggling just to keep her balance, Kriss was totally disoriented. Her entire mind was concentrated on staying upright and bringing fresh air to her craving lungs. Her left leg was throbbing from her heel to her calve and just resting her weight on it was increasing the pain.<br><br>At some point, they stopped and Kriss fell to her knees. She thought they had at last reached their destination and they would leave her alone. This brought her some relief. The streets were dangerous, but now they seemed rather innocuous after what she had been subjected to in the hands of the Patricks.<br><br>When she felt hands holding her head still, she knew she was mistaken.<br><br><strong>"What the fuck are you dooooAAAAAAAAAOOOOWWWW!!!!"</strong> Something was poking against her left ear lobe and pushing harder and harder. <strong>"Stoooooop!!!!"</strong> she screamed as the sensitive piece of flesh suddenly yielded to the rusty piece of wire.<br><br>The sharp pain brought tears to her eyes and she was glad that her face was hidden under the bag. More pain came as the wire was threaded through her flesh and her lobe was carelessly yanked and stretched in all directions. She felt a warm rivulet dribble down her neck. Blood, probably.<br><br>Then the arm that was braced around her skull shifted and tightened even more, bending her head backwards until its back was resting against the yoke. She could not move it at all. A smell of sweat and filth invaded her flaring nostrils as a man's chest was bare inched from her face. She began to panic when she felt fingers groping her nose, and then something sharp scratching against her septum. They are going to pierce my nose! she realised, her heart clenching at the thought. <em>That can't be true! That's too much!</em><br><br>Again she tried to struggle, to kick and twist her torso. But, kneeling on the floor and with the yoke firmly held at both ends, she was completely helpless. She felt a boot pressing on her charred heel, causing a jolt of agony to shoot up her leg.<br><br><strong>"Stop struggling or I press harder!"</strong> she heard.<br><br>Her mind blanked by pain, she froze, holding her breath, only to relax when the foot left her raw wound. Almost at the same moment, the wire was pushed through her septum, with a sickening sound of ground cartilage. A sharp pain exploded in her nose, invading her whole face, throbbing and causing her eyes to fill with tears. More pain followed as the wire was threaded and twisted in a complex way she could not even see. There was constant pulling on her nose, which we could neither anticipate, nor follow as her head was kept totally immobile.<br><br>After more pain in her second ear, Kriss' face as was at last released, leaving her in a blur of pain. Her septum was causing her the most agony and it was not left alone as she felt something being bound to her nose ring. She was pulled up back on her feet and then she felt a sharp tug on her septum. She bent herslef to ease the pull and stumbled forward, almost carried away by the heavy yoke. To recover her balance, she had to step hard on her wounded heel, which made her moan in pain again.<br><br>Unknown to the men, she was crying abundantly under the bag. The constant pain in her nose was causing an automatic reaction from her lachrymal glands. It was also causing mucus to accumulate in her bloodied nose, which prevented her from breathing through her nose. She had to keep her mouth gaping and her laboured breathing was hissing through her constricted wind pipe.<br><br>She was totally lost when she was brutally thrown against some cold stone. Her branded belly ground against it while he torso, weighed down by the yoke, landed against some metallic object. It was cold against her skin. Her breasts, still covered by her black sport bra, were straddling the ice-cold rail. More tugging of her nose, more pain up her skull, and she was secured down, bent at the waist, doubly pinned down by the nose wire and by the weight of the yoke. She was panting heavily.<br><br>She knew what was going to happen and was not surprised when her pants and panties were pulled down. Her baggy pants immediately fell to her ankles while her black panties remained stuck at knee level. She was crying with rage and humiliation. She was about to be gang-banged for the second time of her life, and she was totally powerless to prevent it. She bit her lower lip and clenched her eyes closed. Hopefully they would do it quickly and then leave her alone at last...
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>tobisquestion</strong> on <strong>28-02-2012, 17:58:47</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Never had Dex wandered far from the centre of the action, nor taken his hands of the girl any more than he had to.&nbsp; Her squirming and shrieking during the branding, along with his copious groping at every opportunity, had given him a raging hard-on, and he was sure to be one of those leading her outside the compound.&nbsp; He kept his head low at all times; he wasn’t a current garrison operative and so wasn’t really supposed to be on the team doing this, but he’d seen the opportunity to have his fun and wasn’t going to pass it up.<br><br>John’s sadistic torturing of Kriss by piercing her twice served as enough of a distraction to his presence, and Dex managed to keep a nice low profile right up until they were outside the boundary, and the girl was thrown down on the fountain.&nbsp; It quickly became obvious what was going to happen next.<br><br>“I’m first.” He said forcefully, “This bitch killed my nephew.”<br><br>It was a lie.&nbsp; Dex had never had a nephew, but the other guys didn’t know that.&nbsp; He said it with enough rage and conviction, however, that the other men obligingly stepped aside and allowed him to take his place behind her.&nbsp; With relish he cupped her hips in his hands, looking down at her smoking hot body, despite the seared flesh and the grime and bruises.&nbsp; He especially took in her sumptuous ass, presented bare before him and quivering from a combination of the cold air and the pain which no doubt racked Kriss’ entire body.&nbsp; He didn’t feel a shred of guilt...she was being sent off to her death, no doubt about that.&nbsp; Hell, it would be a damn waste <em>not</em> to make use of her body while it was still good to have.<br><br>His hands were trembling with excitement as he unfastened his belt and pushed down his pants and briefs in one fluid motion.&nbsp; His engorged cock sprang out and he gave a sharp slap to Kriss’ ass cheek as if in warning of his approach.&nbsp; He paid no mind to the laughing and jeering of the others’ even though they were encouraging him on, he was single-minded about getting his jollies off their hapless prisoner.&nbsp; Even the contact of his cock end against her trembling pussy lips was enough to draw a gasp from him.&nbsp; He grinned cruelly as he grabbed her hips roughly, digging his fingers into her flesh and pushed his way unrelentingly inside of her.&nbsp; He encountered surprisingly little resistence; what with her having already been nicely worked in by her initial captors.&nbsp; He laughed as he achieved full depth and looked at the others.<br><br>“I don’t think it’s her first time lads.” He said mockingly.<br><br>He bent his torso down over her and slid his hands under to cup her heaving breasts as he began to thrust himself in and out of her.&nbsp; Her body was certainly the best he’d ever fucked, and he was in no way reserved or gentle in his manhandling of her assets, taking greedy handfuls of her flesh.&nbsp; He chuckled and groaned, his throbbing members slicking its way in and out of her at an increasing pace.<br><br>Before very long at all he could feel his abdomen tightening, and he stood upright and began jerking his hips forward, pounding her mercilessly.&nbsp; “Hope you’re grateful for this, bitch.” He sneered, “I know you can’t see it but take my word for it, I’m fucking you real good.”<br><br>Not long after the end of his taught his legs tremored slightly and he let out a loud groan as his shaft erupted inside of her, flooding her insides with hot cum.&nbsp; He kept boning her relentlessly until her was entirely spend, his face screwed up in pleasure.&nbsp; When he was completely done, he laughed cruelly and slapped his hand against her thigh, withdrawing himself from her and taking a few wobbly steps back, pulling his pants up and fastening them again.<br><br>“Well that’s the last best time she’ll ever have,” he sneered, and looked at the others, “all yours boys.”<br><br>He stuck around for a few minutes longer, but with his own needs seen to he tired of the ordeal, and gradually snuck off back towards the cathedral.&nbsp; The sounds of the next man having his way with the grey bitch became more distant, and he shook his head.&nbsp; He’d never seen anyone put through so much before.&nbsp; Not that he felt sorry for her.&nbsp; She had it coming.&nbsp; She sure was a stubborn little bitch.&nbsp; If she had the slightest sense about her she would have begged to be executed an hour ago.<br><br>No matter, he thought to himself.&nbsp; After tonight it’ll be nobody’s problem but hers.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>29-02-2012, 16:59:47</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Kriss felt one of the men position himself behind her. A sharp slap on her butt made her start. Then she heard him unzip his pants and moments later his cock bouncing against her muscular buttocks. She tried to kick him with her booted foot but he was already too close. She could not touch him. Then she tried to stomp his foot but he simply kicked her feet as far apart as her pants would allow, stretching her panties in the process, forcing her to rest with her belly against the fountain edge. His fingers parted her clenched buttocks and he penetrated her sex in one easy push. Her raw vagina was still aching from her latest gang-bang, but it was also well lubricated by the sperm that had been pumped into her.<br><br>She heard her rapist boast and the spectators cheering him and making obscene comments. She clenched her teeth with frustrated rage. She wanted to scream her fury, to insult them, to buck, but she knew it would at best amuse them, at worst increase their pleasure, and anyway it would only prove how helpless she was. So she opted to remain quiet and just wait for the gang-bang to end.<br><br>It was easier thought than done though. The man dug his fingers into her hips and, half lifting her from the ground, he began to pound into her with brutal vigour. She could not help but moan in pain with each of his thrusts as it was both pounding into her vagina and grinding her sore belly against the stone. Then she felt his hands grab her breasts, which had been bouncing under her. His fingers found their way under her bra and began to maul her firm flesh, kneading her hard nipples, playing with her glands, giving her new reasons to moan in pain and suffer.<br><br>As her pounding became faster and even more brutal, she arched her back and managed to lift the yoke off the plumbing by an inch, until she was painfully yanked back down by her pierced nose. In her misery, she had forgotten about it. The pain exploding in her nose made her yelp and see stars. She fell back on the metal frame with a gasp and remained there, panting heavily, hissing through her constricted throat, while her rape continued. At last she felt the man come into her, spurting his hot semen into her saturated vagina.<br><br>He moved out, quickly replaced by another one, no less brutal and uncaring. When he found her not reactive enough, this one began to claw at her breasts, stretch her nipples and squeeze her mammary glands until she was again thrashing about on the fountain. It was obviously what he had been fantasising about as he came almost immediately, filling her pussy once again.<br><br>The third man used her anus, which had already been violated the day before and was still sore from it. It was too well lubricated but very tight anyway as Kriss had never before allowed anybody to enter her by this opening. The renewed pain made her scream to the top of her burning lungs, screams that were getting coarse and laboured, because of the string that was choking her. Each thrust sent her rapist's hairy balls bouncing against her gaping pussy, from which a long, thick thread of semen was dribbling to land on her soaked, over-stretched panties between her knees.<br><br>The last man took for ever, sawing and ramming into her sore vagina as if his goal was to peel its inner wall from their skin. Kriss thought it would never end. And finally he came onto her thighs, which were already slick with the cum oozing out of her over-used holes.<br><br>Kriss had been afraid they would just leave her like that, but finally they decided not to. They pulled her panties back up her thighs, only to find that the elastic hem had been over-stretched and it was no longer holding up around her hips. Then they pulled her pants back up, holding the panties in place. Her breasts were now hanging below her chest, naked, with her bra and tank top trussed up around her upper torso. Someone pulled both clothes down, covering her boobs, while leaving them smeared with the cums they had got on their fingers while they mauling them. At last they detached the trash-bag rope from the fountain, leaving it dangling from her nose piercing.<br><br>And then she heard them walking away. She was alone at last, still bent over the edge of the fountain, shivering in the coldness of the night, her vagina and rectum in fire, dripping semen inside her loose panties, pain throbbing in her piercing and branding wounds.<br><hr>She waited in that position for a moment, waiting for the sounds from her rapists to fade away, collecting her thoughts and recovering some energy. She felt utterly helpless, and indeed she was. But now at least she had tiny hope to get alive out of this predicament. If she could make it back to the Battery territory, her friends would help her. However, in her present state it would take her many hours before she could reach there, supposing that nobody interfered, and supposed she could find the shortest way. She knew Manhattan by heart. Her best option was to follow the 5th avenue and then Broadway all the way down to Battery Park. It would be a long trip, scattered with dangers, full of enemies...<br><br>At last she began to stir. She tried to lift her torso from the fountain's iron frame but the yoke proved too heavy. She had to let herself glide down to her knees until she was kneeling with her breasts pressing against the edge of the wall in an almost vertical position. With the yoke weight now resting directly on her shoulders, she was able to carry it and stand up on her feet. Or rather on her foot, as she did not dare to rest too much on her branded left heel. The trash-bag rope was dangling down her chest to her navel.<br><br>She turned her head around, trying to distinguish something. She knew which way her rapists had gone but it still left her with three direction to move: to her left, to her right or straight ahead, past the fountain. She did not know the area well, as it was too far behind her enemies territory lines and she could not remember where that fountain was located. Through the black canvas of the bag she could not distinguish the outline of the dark skyscrapers against the sky. There was no way she could get her bearing right. After a lot of hesitations, she decided to just go straight ahead. Hopefully she would later find some indication of where she was.<br><br>As she began to limp, the bells at the end of the yoke started to ring, sending their merry chime far into the night. Kriss' blood froze in her veins. The sound was sure to attract every night predator in ear range. She tried to make smaller steps, to move in smoother shifts, but her limping was not helping and every two or three step, one of the bells rang, advertising her presence to the neighbourhood.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>tobisquestion</strong> on <strong>29-02-2012, 23:14:42</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The high walls of the hanger-style warehouse reverbated with the sound of empty oil cans being piled up one upon another.&nbsp; Q-Ball, a lean, gangly man with grease-stained skin and clothes, hoisted the last one from the latest trade up onto his pile.&nbsp; The large metal containers always fetched a decent price with the Patricks, but he'd have to wait until tomorrow before heading down there to broker a deal.&nbsp; Slimy bastards that they were...at least when he dealt with his fellow city-scum he could feel like he was the bigger fish.&nbsp; The problem with the forts was that they have more bargaining leverage and...<em>fuck what is that irritating sound?</em><br><br>As the metallic clanging of his work ceased, he became aware of a ringing somewhere out on the main street.&nbsp; It wasn't entirely regular, but it did sound like it was moving.&nbsp; Coming closer to be precise.&nbsp; Screwing up his face (a face which many would struggle to differentiate between it's screwed-up state and it's regular state) he sauntered away from the building a little way and nearer to the road.&nbsp; He froze as he saw the lone figure walking right down the middle of the street...it was one of the most bizarre and harrowing things he'd seen in a while.&nbsp; With it's arms braced up high it looked almost like a walking scarcecrow, and he sniggered to himself.&nbsp; His first thought that it was a loner breakaway from one of the several flagulant doomsayer cults.&nbsp; They certainly turned out some weird individuals.<br><br>But as the figure got closer, he realised something didn't add up about that conclusion.&nbsp; For one thing, the stranger was distinctly female...and young...and in good shape too.&nbsp; Good shape figure-wise that was.&nbsp; She was severely beaten, injured and debilitated, and struggling to move along with her restrictive yoke, a bare and apparently wounded foot, and the rough sack over her head.<br><br>It took a while for his unspectacular mental abilities to slot the pieces into place, but eventually he recalled a critical piece of information he'd heard only the day before.&nbsp; Kriss...the "grey bitch"...someone had said the Patricks had got her.&nbsp; Q-Ball hadn't believed it at first; it would be just like the Patricks to put out a story like that to big themselves up.&nbsp; But judging by what he was seeing now, it was starting to look like the tales were true.&nbsp; The Patricks <em>had</em> caught her...and boy had they done a number on her.&nbsp; Every single movement she made looked agonised.&nbsp; It was a wonder she was still walking.<br><br>The grey bitch.&nbsp; Boy had she caused him problems in the past.&nbsp; His particular line of business operated on the larger, more infrequent kind of trades, since he didn't let the oil drums go for cheap.&nbsp; But when mercs like Kriss were making it harder for people in the wastes to get the basics, purse-strings became even more tightly pulled.&nbsp; That wasn't good for Q-Ball.<br><br>Spitting onto the ground he paced haughtily towards her.&nbsp; "Nice piece of wood you got there darl'n'."&nbsp; he called out, increasing his pace until he was almost upon her.&nbsp; Shit, she scarcely looked like she was able to break into a run.&nbsp; "Looks kinda heavy though.&nbsp; Why don't you let me help you take a load of for a while."<br><br>He lunged for her and clasped one hand on the back of the wooden yoke, and the other hand grabbed a bunch of the back of the bag covering her head.&nbsp; He yanked her roughly to the side, and placed a hard kick to the side of her knee of the still-booted leg.&nbsp; This ensured the least amount of resistance when he began to drag her back towards the warehouse.&nbsp; For once, he was gonna have a little fun after a hard day's work.<br><br>"I think I got just the think for you to relax on a while." he drawled, "Hoooooo boy it's been a while since I had a fine HOPA like you to share mah troubles with."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>01-03-2012, 11:56:50</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Kriss was limping along the street, accompanied by the regular ringing of the bells. She knew she would soon hate them more than anything else. Not only were they getting her mad and announcing her presence to everybody, but they were also preventing her from listening correctly. Even if she stopped moving, their ringing seemed to be echoing in her ears for some time before her hearing re-accustomed itself to silence.<br><br>It was even more frustrating as her sight was almost totally impaired by the bag and the surrounding darkness. She was progressing with almost total absence of indication about her surrounding. Even her sense of smell was saturated by the foul stench reigning inside the bag. The only sensations that made it to her brains were the chill of the air and the roughness of the ground.<br><br>Since New-York had fallen into chaos, the sky-scrapers that had been its pride had quickly fallen into a state of complete dereliction. A few years ago, who could have imagined how fast the steel would rust, once it was no longer regularly coated with anti-corrosion treatment? How quickly the concrete would have begun to crackle and crumble under the assault of rain and winter ice? How frail the giant panels of glass actually were? Most building were still erect but their facades were no longer the glorious sight they had been. As a result, the street were strewn with debris of all sizes, mostly crumbles of concrete and macadam and broken glass.<br><br>Kriss had grown accustomed to walking on this kind of substrate to the point of no longer bothering, but now that one of her feet was naked it was an entirely different matter. As she limped forward, she had to touch the ground in front of her for a place safe enough to rest her naked toes. Her heel was already wounded badly enough and she did not want the other half of her foot to join its misery. At some points, she had to clear some safe spot with her booted right foot before stepping on it.<br><br>And all the time, the yoke was grinding against her neck and shoulders while chaffing her wrists. Its weight was taking its toll too, not that it was particularly heavy to the athletic girl, but because it kept swinging in all directions, forcing Kriss to compensate and straighten it, using muscles that she had not trained to that effect.<br><br>Evaluating time and distance was not easy, but she was sure she had not walked for more than one block when she heard foot-steps and then a male voice. She froze and turned towards the sound, trying to peer through the bag, although to no avail.<br><br>The man was approaching faster. He proposed to help her. Without the use of her eyes, it was difficult for her to determine whether he was being ironic or whether he was really willing to help.<br><br><strong>"Yes, please. That would be very..."</strong> she began to say.<br><br>Suddenly she felt the yoke being twisted sidewards, while a hand brutally yanked her head backward, pulling on the bag and her hair at the same time. She let out a coarse, hissing protest and contracted all the muscles in her body as she tried to prevent the weight yoke from throwing her to the ground. In her desperate attempt to recover her balance, she rested her wounded left foot on the ground and gasped from the pain that shot up her leg. Half a second later, a powerful kick in her right knee brought another jolt of pain and unsettled her last support. With a yelp and a curse, she fell on the ground. The yoke fell its left end first and sent a powerful jolt into her neck and skull as it crashed on the macadam, the bell ringing madly. It stayed in that oblique position for about one second as the moaning Kriss was desperately trying to lift it again, and then its weight pulled her down, on her back. It bounced heavily on the floor and settled down.<br><br>Kriss was dazzled. The series of yoke jolts had wrenched it around her neck and reverberated into her skull. The fact she was blinded by the bag was making the experience even more unsettling. She was laying on her back, panting heavily, her firm breasts heaving up and down. Quickly, still in the haze of the fall, she curled her legs back and tried to lift the heavy piece of wood and sit up. Her abs were clenched tight under her flat belly, changing it into a pipe of steel. All her muscles joined them in the effort.<br><br>Unknown to her, Q-Ball had put his foot on the yoke, between her head and her right hand. Her efforts were hopeless, even comical from the man's point of view. Then he grabbed the piece of timber and, lifting it from the ground, began to carry it off the street, dragging the helpless girl behind him. In her awkward position, arched backwards, facing the unseen sky, she had trouble recovering her footing and had to follow him, half shuffling her feet backward, half dragged by her neck and wrists.<br><br><strong>"You bastard!"</strong> she croaked. <strong>Leave me alone, or release me and fight like a man, not like a coward!</strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>tobisquestion</strong> on <strong>01-03-2012, 15:19:26</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Q-Ball laughed and whooped raucously at her challenge, blithely pulling her over the sideway, down the severely damaged alleyway and into the makeshift warehouse.&nbsp; The metallic reverberations would give her some indication of the kind of place she'd been brought to.<br><br>"Sweetheart, as a man I'd love to get you outta that nasty lookin' thing," he said cheerfully, "but as a <em>business</em>-man I gotta consider everything from a risk-management point'a view, and freein' you seems awful risky."<br><br>More than anything he was enjoying how rediculous Kriss looked being dragged backwards by the cumbersome yoke, and he hadn't really thought out exactly what he was going to do with her once he'd got her inside.&nbsp; All he knew was that he'd lost count of the number of times he'd lost a sale because of some misfortune experienced by his client, and not infrequently this bitch was involved.&nbsp; Now clearly whatever the Patricks had done to her had made it so that she was unlikely to cause him many more problems here-on-in, but that didn't mean the score was settled.&nbsp; For that, he'd have to be a little more creative.<br><br>He tossed her onto the concrete floor of the warehouse and walked around in front of her, looking her over and letting out an incredulous whistle.<br><br>"Hoo dang, those Patricks done tenderised you up nicely." he said, "You one dumb bitch to get yerself in a bind with those nasty fuckers.&nbsp; After all they done I suppose they let you go on accounts that yer debt's been paid.&nbsp; Thing is, I don't remember gettin' my cut, so I thinks I'm gonna have to see if we can make things right just now."<br><br>He gave her bare foot a prod with his own workboot, and snorted.&nbsp; "Don't suppose I can really ask you to stand around though.&nbsp; Maybe we'll see if I can throw you a bone and make it so you can just hang about while I do what's gotta be done."<br><br>The corner of his eye had already caught the fork-lift truck, which hadn't functioned for years due to a lack of fuel, but he'd kept it around ever since some travelling merchant had claimed to be able to provide a solar power solution.&nbsp; Damn merchant was yet to make good on his word, but the forks were in a raise position, and it gave Q-Ball an idea.<br><br>"Hold thar jus' a second missy." he chirped, grabbing the yoke once again and dragging her onwards towards the contraption.&nbsp; With care not to lose hiw own balance, he grunted loudly and heaved the yoke upwards just as he approached the truck, carefully positioning Kriss so that the two forked slid under the yoke between each respective forearm and her neck, with her body facing the cab of the truck.<br><br>Q-Ball stepped back, huffing from the exertion.&nbsp; "That works nice don't you think?&nbsp; 'course you lookin' pretty vulnerable hangin' there.&nbsp; Just like small businesses like mine in this rather volatile economic environment, know what I'm sayin'?&nbsp; Perhaps I give you a little taste of how it feels when your activities impact upon my trades."<br><br>In contract to his chirpy speech, his face screwed up with aggression and he swung a punch into the side of Kriss's body, drawing back rubbing his knuckles.&nbsp; Wasting no time, he brought the other arm around and pummelled the small of her back, and then again into her side, and next brought his knee up crashing into the back of her thigh so hard that he felt the clunk of her thigh-bone.&nbsp; Lastly, he clasped both his hands together, moved around to her side and landed a double-fisted blow straight into her exposed abdomen.<br><br>Stopping to take a breath, Q-Ball smiled in satisfaction at her every noise and physical response.&nbsp; As he caught his breath his eyes ran over her figure from the side, taking in her substantial curved and pursing his lips in a small whistle.&nbsp; Stepping forward he flatted one hand against her stomach, and slid it up underneath the material of her tank top until he was cupping her sumptuous breasts.&nbsp; He hummed in approval.<br><br>Moving around behind her - close enough so that she would find it difficult to draw either of her feet far away enough to gain momentum for a kick - he brought his other hand around the other side and slipped it up the front of her top also, reaching up and boldly groping at her chest, all the while mumbling and groaning about how good it felt.<br><br>"God damn bitch," he murmured, "looks like you done gave me a boner.&nbsp; What the hell am I supposed to do now."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>01-03-2012, 17:41:48</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Kriss hated to be so helpless in the hands of that man. She could not even see who he was, how he looked like. But by the way he was panting, he must not have been much of a trained athlete. He kept mentioning he was a businessman and that would probably have made him somewhat overweight. The type of man she would usually have sent sprawled and puking with a single kick. And there she was entirely at his power.<br><br>At these thought, Kriss roared in frustration and humiliation. Her right leg kicked blindly in front of her and she dug the nails of her fingers into her palms.<br><br><strong>"Let me go!!!! Or you'll regret it!"</strong> she barked, although her strangled voice was not conveying much authority. <strong>"My friends will rip your balls and roast them if you don't free me right now!"</strong><br><br>The man continued to drag her backward, grunting and panting. And suddenly he dropped her and once again she fell, ungraciously, the yoke and her head banging on the floor. Once again she tried to lift the yoke, bracing on her feet, bridging her belly up, contorting her legs but never able to lift the heavy rail sleeper more than a couple of inches before its weight brought her back down. At some point the man touched her wounded heel with his shoe, causing her to yelp in pain and twist her leg away like cut-off worm.<br><br>When he lifted her off the ground, she tried to kick him with her feet but she had not enough momentum for that. Moment later, she felt that her yoke was hanging from something. She reached down with her toes but she could not touch anything, however thin she stretched her legs. Unbeknown to her, the tip of her feet was only inches from the concrete floor. As far as she was concerned though, it might have been miles away.<br><br>She was about to protest when he punched her in the back. The violence of the blow made her body swing forward and pain explode in her kidneys. She tried to kick backward with her booted foot but only met thin air. More punches rained on the small of her back and on her sides, each one making her jerk like a punching ball and moan in pain. The double-punch in her belly made her curl her legs upwards and let out a stream of bile out of her gasping mouth, which was stopped by her head bag and remained sticking against the lower part of her face. Winded, her belly screaming in agony, her legs fell back, twitching and swinging around loosely.<br><br>The pig used her lack of reaction to get closer, right against her back. She could feel his panting breath against her back, against the branded skin that was revealed by her torn tank top. And then his hands reached under her top and explored her breasts through her sport bra. She grunted in disapproval and squirmed a little, but she was still winded and too weak to really oppose any resistance. Her mouth was gaping wide under the bag as she was still trying bring back air into her burning lungs through her strangled throat.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>tobisquestion</strong> on <strong>02-03-2012, 11:54:31</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Q-Ball slipped his hands in over the top of Kriss' bra and kneaded her breasts directly for a while, chuckling and giggling like a kid with a new toy.&nbsp; His pants were becoming increasingly uncomfortable.&nbsp; It was the nature of his lifestyle - indeed, that of many people out in the wasted city - that he really didn't get laid often, and certainly never without either paying for it or taking advantage of some desperate crack whore.&nbsp; He considered pulling her pants down and plunging his raging hard-on straight into her...but she was suspended a little too high to make the deed practical.&nbsp; Besides, to do it by himself entailed too many risks.<br><br>Then a thought crossed his mind, and a smile crossed his face.&nbsp; He took his hands off her and stepped back quickly, lest he become the recipient of a sharp lash of her foot.&nbsp; Wordlessly, he walked around the side of the forklift, and clambered up onto the roof of it.&nbsp; Shuffling forwards, he sat on the front of the top of the cab, his legs dangling in front of Kriss, with her still hanging there facing towards him so he was literally looking down at her covered face.<br><br>"You know I ain't been doin' this right." he said, "It's always right to look someone in the eye when yer tryna make a point, doncha think?"<br><br>He reached down and untied the shoelace drawstring which held the bag in place, and without much care pulled it off her head, dropping off to the side somewhere.&nbsp; With her face exposed, her could suddenly see the full extent of the torture she'd recieved.<br><br>"Holy christ, sucks to be you girl that's all I can say."<br><br>Despite the damage and the filth, the impression of an extremely attractive young woman was still there, and it was more the pity that the yoke largely obstructed his view of her body from where he was sitting.&nbsp; But the way her tits felt in his hands was still fresh in his memory, as was the effect it had had on him.&nbsp; Smiling cruelly, he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants.&nbsp; Reaching down and fumbling around, he produced his swollen cock and shuffled so that it pointed in her direction.<br><br>"Darlin', I'm gonna feel a whole lot better about everything after this.&nbsp; Just you sit right there."<br><br>Sneering down at her, he began to stroke himself with increasing vigour, the whole time keeping his shaft angled towards her.&nbsp; It was clear from the changing look on his face that it was a long, long time since he'd felt release, and that it wasn't going to take very long.&nbsp; As he continued, he began to twitch and his legs rocked with pleasure, his boots occassionally knocking against Kriss' exposed and branded stomach.<br><br>Indeed it was less than a minute before Q-Ball felt his abdomen tense, and he ejaculated three long spurts of semen which arced and splatter onto Kriss' braced face.&nbsp; Not a part of her face went unmarked; her hair, her eyes, her lips.&nbsp; It was copious enough to form blobs which rolled and trickled down her face as Q-Ball whooped, hollered and gasped from his position looking down at his handiwork.&nbsp; He continued to thump himself, flicking the occassional drop of his juice forward onto her.&nbsp; And when he was done, he zipped up again.<br><br>"I think," he said, "that maybe just about puts things to rights."<br><br>With slightly wobbly legs, his hopped down onto the ground and walked to the front of the forklift.&nbsp; With none of the care with which he'd racked her up there, he pushed the wooden yoke so that it slid off the forks and sent Kriss tumbling to the ground.&nbsp; He saw no need to replace the bag; she'd already seen him and it made no difference.&nbsp; Besides, he wanted her to go on her way, not be staggering around the warehouse all night keeping him awake with those bells.<br><br>"You be on yer way now bitch." he said, "And if by slim chance you survive beyond tonight, don't forget to tell yer friends whatchya saw here, oil drums by the barrel-load for the best price in the wasteland, yee-haw!"<br><br>Laughing, he simply walked away.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>02-03-2012, 14:00:17</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				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...
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>darknessmonger</strong> on <strong>06-03-2012, 19:23:31</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Two pair of eyes were witnessing the effort of the woman to stand up, after following her for a while and making sure that it was not any kind of trap, that she was actually alone and defenceless they approached her.<br><br>"What do we have here?" spoke the taller one, while he took a good look figuring if there was anything left in her worth stealing<br><br>"Maybe we can help her with her transportation problems in some way". said the smaller one with a cruel smile on his face.&nbsp; Been the small fishes on the place, the left overs of a bigger gang that have had many casualties in previous skirmishes, the pair wanted to take any advantage that fate decided to give them, in this case it would just be some amusement.<br><br>They found the rusty frame of a bike against a wall nearby, only the metal parts remained, no seat, tires or pedals.<br><br>The wheels still turned making some loud noises, and the handle bar seemed to have been sealed in place with rust, just some degrees to the right.<br><br>"I hope you appreciate all the help we are providing, with a vehicle you will reach your destination in no time.<br><br>the tall one made her astride the bike while the other held it in place<br><br>"We should make sure you don't fall". He said as the rusty metal tube where the seat would go was pushed up her dry unprepared anus. Finally her tiptoes reached the floor.<br><br>Then he grabbed the plastic rope that dangled from the wire fixed to her face, gave it a turn around her torso and passed it between her legs to fix it in a nut and bolt from the same tube that was now sticking out of her anus, this to make sure she would not be able to remove herself from the impaling bike.<br><br>The men just stepped to the side to admire their work and see how the woman handled this new predicament.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>07-03-2012, 12:37:19</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Kriss heard the men before she saw them. She tried to walk faster as they called her, limping badly, swinging the heavy yoke left and right to keep her balance. The bells began to ring noisily, constantly. She even tried to run but then the yoke began to bounce and pound on her shoulders in a very painful way and she did not make more than a few steps.<br><br>Soon the men had caught up with her. They grabbed the yoke, stopping her. Kriss tried to kick them but they wisely remained on her sides, at the ends of the yoke, where she could not reach them easily. Pushing down on the yoke, it was easy for them to force her on her knees, rendering her totally harmless.<br><br>She tried to complain and to threaten but to no avail. One of them brought that old, rusty bicycle. He pulled her pants and panties off her legs and threw them in a nearby dumpster. Then they lifted her by her yoke and been impaled her on the pipe that used to support the bike seat. As the thick, rusty pipe was shoved up her rectum, she moaned in pain. The sperm it had been filled with did little to lubricate her. At last, they released their hold on her yoke and she realised she had to stand on the ball of her feet to prevent the pipe from going deeper. She was clenching her strong buttocks hard in an attempt to stabilise herself.<br><br>At last, they let her go, laughing at her predicament. <br><br>Kriss immediately realised how bad her situation had turned. She tried to "sit" on the bike, which would have allowed her use the bike to increase her speed, but she was painfully shown that it was hopeless. Even putting just a bit of her weight on her butt caused the pipe to enter deeper into her, causing tremendous pain. This meant that, basically, she had to walk on the ball of her feet while having to push/drag the bike forward.<br><br>After a few yards, the bike had already begun to turn and she had to use her knees to aim it again in the correct direction, an operation she had to repeat every few steps. It did not take long for her calves to begin to burn from cramps and tremble. Again, she tried to lower her butt to rest her heels on the ground, but as the seat pipe ground into her rectum, she could not stop a yelp and shot back up on the balls of her feet.<br><br>Kriss realised she would never be able to reach the fort like that. Her legs would tire very soon and she could not see how to get rid of the bike as she was linked to it by her nose. Awkwardly, painstakingly, she shuffled forward, her bells ringing madly as her yoke was swaying furiously in her attempts to keep her balance.<br><br>Remaining on her toes proved increasingly harder. Her heels slowly lowered, pushing more of the pipe into her rectum, until at last it had gone deep enough to allow her to stand flat-footed. Still her progress remained very slow and there was no way she could rest her tiring legs, which she had to keep stretched to prevent further impalement.<br><br>She managed to walk like that for another block, bringing her to the intersection with the 47th street. She was manoeuvring her bike among the burnt carcasses of collided cars when her bare foot walked on something sharp. She yelped and instinctively pulled her leg up. The sudden move made her tilt to the right. She desperately tried to recover her equilibrium but the yoke was already past her centre of gravity and, like in slow motion, she fell on her side and crashed on the cold macadam.<br><br>She cursed and squirmed frantically. Her body was awkwardly twisted as the yoke was forcing her shoulders to rest on the floor while the bike was preventing her hips to do the same. Her right leg was trapped under the bike and mostly unable to move. Of course, she was still impaled on the bike and only her left leg, with her wounded foot, had any bit of freedom. The weight of the yoke was preventing her from lifting her torso off the floor.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Kazyth</strong> on <strong>09-03-2012, 02:11:26</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				It wasn't the original jingling of the bell as she walked herself along that woke Billings from his slumber, though the high silvery chimes did alert him that someone was around.&nbsp; You didn't last long in the City Wastes if you were a heavy sleeper.&nbsp; Not unless you belonged to one of the forts, and Billings had always considered himself a free agent.&nbsp; Living in someone else's fort meant you have to live by someone else's rules, after all, and those rules were generally far too restrictive for an unstable sociopath.&nbsp; Of course, in this day and age being an unstable sociopath wasn't really all that terrible a thing.&nbsp; Normal people tended to die quickly because they didn't react well, or clung to ideas of 'fair play' or 'live and let live'.&nbsp; Which was a good way to end up dead, looted, and possibly even eaten depending on the section of town that you wandered into.<br><br>No, it was the yelp of pain mingled with the crash of metal and the frantic bell-ringing that really gave him a reason to sit up and take notice.&nbsp; Rather like a ragged trapdoor spider he pushed back the covering that hid the entrance to his building, a big piece of plywood with rubble glued to the front.&nbsp; Heavy, yes, but when settled it made the building appear to be utterly blocked and inaccessible.&nbsp; And, but for the basement, that was pretty much the case.&nbsp; Nervous blue eyes scanned the street, watching for other scavengers and predators for a few heartbeats.&nbsp; Nope, coast was clear.&nbsp; Quickly he closed the distance between himself and the... yoked, impaled, and fallen woman.&nbsp; A woman who'd taken a living hell's worth of abuse, if he was any judge of things.&nbsp; And he was.&nbsp; "Well, what the fuck do we have here?&nbsp; Someone sure hates the fuck out of you, girl."<br><br>A great dusty gray overcoat, stained with brown spots of grease and filth but still quite good for camo when moving around the city, hugged a rather burly and powerful frame that would have been at home an any lumberjack you'd care to name.&nbsp; Matted chestnut hair stuck out wildly from beneath a cowboy hat that may once have been black, but was now mostly sun-faded and white with crusted sweat salt.&nbsp; With a five-o-clock shadow hugging a strong jaw, slightly crooked nose, and bushy eyebrows he could have stepped right out of some western as the crusty sheriff, if not for the madness that swirled in his gaze.&nbsp; And the fact that he had only a stained yellowing t-shirt under the coat, tucked loosely into faded denim jeans with a hole in the right knee.&nbsp; Duct-taped cowboy boots, though!&nbsp; That has to count for something.<br><br>"You just last still a moment little miss.&nbsp; Lets see if we can get you out of this."&nbsp; A knife made from what appeared to be a sharpened lawnmower blade with a cloth-wrapped handled appeared from behind his back and sliced through the plastic bag lead easily before being stowed in the spine sheath it came from.&nbsp; Powerful, calloused hands settled under her arms, gripping near her armpits as he carefully righted her, not even grunting at the added weight of her stocks.&nbsp; "Don't know who put this in you, but it's not going to feel any nicer coming out.&nbsp; Just try not to scream to much, and maybe we can get out of this alive."&nbsp; One booted foot jammed into the back wheel well, holding it still while he lifted, drawing the metal tube from her ass inch by inch until he could set her on her good foot and steady the bike.&nbsp; "C'mon, miss.&nbsp; You're not going anywhere like that.&nbsp; Lets get you down somewhere safe.&nbsp; Just don't talk until I say we're clear, got it?"<br><br>Been a while since he's seen or had a woman.&nbsp; And for as fucked up as she was, she was a looker, alright.&nbsp; But Billings was a man with standards, and he'd be damned it he was going to rape a woman in her condition.&nbsp; Better to clean her up a bit, bind some of the wounds, and THEN rape her and toss her back out into the street.&nbsp; Seems a fair trade, that.&nbsp; Quickly he shuffled her back to his lair, helping her down the dusty stairs and into the murky depths, even though she had to turn her body a bit to fit the yoke down there.&nbsp; The bike was stashed nearby, the cover back in place, and after leading her deeper still they emerged into his... cave, really.&nbsp; It was a basement once, but the death of the world had opened it up some, the wall crumbling between his basement and that of the building next door, giving him plenty of space.&nbsp; Not much light, but a few crude candles solved that.<br><br>"Sit, sit," he urged, settling her onto the remains of an overstuffed easy chair, stained and an ugly mint green.&nbsp; A crude wooden crate was fetched for her foot to rest on, before he fetched some water, first cleaning off her face with a wetted cloth, then pressing the battered and chipped ceramic cup to her lips.&nbsp; "Drink, then tell me what the fuck happened to you while I try to patch you up.&nbsp; Who's mother did you sodomize with a spiked bat to end up like this?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>09-03-2012, 10:01:37</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				However desperate her situation seemed, Kriss kept struggling to get herself off the bike. But her attempts were getting less frantic, and more spaced. Heaving on the yoke was slowly exhausting her reserves of energy. Every now and then, she fought against her fate. Burst of fierce belle jingling echoed among the tall ruined walls and then she fell back, panting and hissing, forced by the yoke to look skywards at the faint stars.<br><br>It struck her that she had never seen the stars like that, so bright, so numerous. Back in the old time, pollution and lights had made them pale or even invisible. And since the city was dead, she had never had the time nor the inspiration to stare at the sky.<br><br>Suddenly she heard a noise coming from one of the nearby buildings. She froze, reducing her breathing to a shallow, regular stream of air as she waited and listened. She contorted her neck in the yoke, trying to look in the direction was coming from but it was out of her field of sight and she did not dare to move the yoke to reposition her head in a better position. Footsteps sounds, coming closer fast, and suddenly a male voice and the his owner came in sight, towering over her helpless, half-naked body.<br><br>She looked at the man. His face was hard to see against the sky, shadowed by his hat. But his words were not harsh, even helpful. It was unlikely that he belonged to the Patricks though. Rather one of those street rats who tried to survive alone.<br><br><strong>"Yes... Those bastards from St-Patrick,"</strong> she whispered, answering his question. <strong>"Could you help me?"</strong><br><br>They way he cut the leash connecting her nose to the bike, efficient and careful, reassured her. At least this one was not willing to hurt her. Maybe he did not know her, or he had not recognised her, or he just did not care... She felt his strong, calloused hands grab her under her armpits, lift her torso, and begin to pull her off the tube. The rusty piece of metal ground at her rectum as it was slowly moving out of it, causing her to clench her eyes and hiss through her teeth as she fought not to scream from the unbearable pain. As it finally came out of her butt, there was a noisy fart which she quickly shut off by clenching her buttocks tight.<br><br>Helped by the Samaritan, as she was calling her inwardly, she limped towards the building he had come from. He was not only helping her to carry the weight of the yoke but he was also holding the bells, preventing them from ringing and broadcasting their presence to everybody. He led her downstairs into the guts of the building. <br><br>The light was dim, which she was appreciating. This man did not seem to know her. This was quite possible, but he could not have missed to have heard of her, unless he never talked to anybody. But, now that she was only wearing a tank top, only her red mane might give her up. In the poor light, this might go unnoticed.<br><br>As he washed the cum that had dried all over her face, his touch was smooth and she was grateful for it. The dried streaks of sperm had been itching madly. Still, he could do little for the stench that was coming from her hair, but she felt far better. She welcomed the water and drank the whole cup. Her mouth was dry and parched as she had not be given anything to drink since her capture. The foul-tasted liquid restored some of her energy.<br><br><strong>"Thank you so much!"</strong> she said as she tried to relax on the comfortable chair. <strong>"You are really saving my life. I was scavenging for food when I stumbled on a patrol of those bastards from the cathedral. They said I was stealing what belonged to them and see how they arranged me. I'll kill them if I ever get my hands on them! Please, could you help me out of this yoke? It is grinding into the skin of my neck and wrists and I can hardly bear it any longer. I have collected quite a bit of useful stuff in my lair, down to the south. Help me out and I promise I won't be ungrateful." </strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Kazyth</strong> on <strong>12-03-2012, 03:46:58</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Billings said nothing as she chattered on about who got her and why.&nbsp; Not that he would know if she was telling the truth, mind, but even for one who was caught scavenging the abuse she'd suffered seemed a little extreme.&nbsp; Probably it was something worse, and she was just trying to cover it up so he'd continue to help her out.&nbsp; Even as her words flowed across his ears his brain was taking little hints and clues, the remaining clothing she wore, the obvious strength still in her body, the color of her hair.&nbsp; Ahhh, that was it then, wasn't it?&nbsp; This was the one they called the Gray Bitch.&nbsp; Well, some called her that.&nbsp; Others called her less flattering things indeed.&nbsp; No wonder she'd been worked over so well.&nbsp; Things between the Battery folk and the Pats had always been strained, but she was considered something akin to Public Enemy #1 with those Patfolk.<br><br>"Sorry darlin', but that yoke ain't comin' off with anything that I have available in here."&nbsp; Cerulean eyes scanned the main room, running over cobbled-together shelves piled with neatly-sorted goods and scraps, some scavenged security lockers bolted to the gray cement walls filled with his more valuable goods, and then back to the battered figure on his second-favorite chair.&nbsp; With a sigh he lumbered over to one of the lockers and fiddled with the lock, keeping his wide frame between her and it until he could swing it wide.&nbsp; "You need some industrial sized metal cutters to get those off.&nbsp; Can't even get a bolt cutter between the wood and metal, from the looks of it.&nbsp; All I can do is try to patch you up as best I can."&nbsp; Liquids sloshed and plastics rustled as he gathered a few things and then closed the locker most of the way, wandering back over to her side with a mostly-empty bottle, and some plastic storage bags full of basic medical supplies.<br><br>Supplies went on a rather battered and rickety T.V. tray that was mostly held up by duct tape and staples, but seemed servicable enough for all of that.&nbsp; Most of the paisly flower pattern that had onced topped it was chipped away, but it wasn't all that rusted and seemed quite clean overall.&nbsp; So was the small glass bowl that he carefully filled with something eye-watering from another small bottle.&nbsp; "This is going to suck, miss.&nbsp; Not gonna lie about that.&nbsp; Gotta clean out those wounds, especially the one on the foot, and get rid of some of the burned skin, along with any skin that looks particularly unhealthy.&nbsp; If you want to keep your limbs and not die of sepsis and necropsy, that is."&nbsp; Yellowish teeth flashed in the dim light as he settled on a stool and lifted her damaged foot carefully onto his lap, moving a candle closer to take in the extend of the damage.<br><br>"Oof.&nbsp; Even with what I can do, you'll be lucky to walk with only a small limp after this."&nbsp; The mostly-empty bottle was unscrewed and the mouth pressed against her lips, then slowly tilted upward.&nbsp; "Drink.&nbsp; You need it.&nbsp; It's all the whiskey I have left, but I haven't been able to scavenge any real anistethics, so getting you a little tanked before I work will have to do."&nbsp; Which was a lie.&nbsp; One hell of a lie, actually.&nbsp; He had a stash of various painkillers, Vicodin, Codine, Percocet.&nbsp; But he wasn't about to waste any of them on the Gray Bitch.&nbsp; She'd hit places he'd marked before, like she'd hit just about everyone else.&nbsp; The only reason he hadn't already stabbed her in the gut and fucked the hole 'till she died was that she'd also earned some respect from him.&nbsp; That's a rare thing.&nbsp; Not enough to keep him from taking payment outta her for the medical care, but it was still something.&nbsp; "Don't waste any of it.&nbsp; I know it's harsh, but it's that or you be entirely aware for what comes next."<br><br>Once she'd finished the bottle he set it aside gently, knowing it could be rinsed and used to store some of his home-brewed rotgut later, and dipped a strip of foraged linen in the small glass bowl.&nbsp; "Try not to kick me.&nbsp; This is going to hurt like hell."&nbsp; Nearly pure alcohol soaked the strip, the same strip he used to clean out the brand on her foot.&nbsp; Dip, brush through the channel a burned letter had seared into her foot, scraping and brushing out bits of stone, dirt, glass... dip and repeat, burnt flesh flaking and cracking off with every pass as he worked through each letter with one hand, while the other clamped down like a vice on her ankle, holding the foot in place.&nbsp; It also served to hide the growing erection that her pained cries and whimpers gave him.&nbsp; "I was a field medic in the Marines, you know.&nbsp; Did tours in little hellholes like you wouldn't believe.&nbsp; You think this is bad, you should see what skin looks like after a dose of naplam."<br><br>When the foot was finally clean, including the various blisters and cuts, he bound it carefully in a slightly stained but still serviceable ACE bandage, then settled it back on the footstool, before moving over to her side and studying the burn on her stomach.&nbsp; "This one isn't as bad.&nbsp; Probably feels as bad, but you haven't been dragging it over the ground, either."&nbsp; The little bowl was drained into a bucket, rinsed lightly, then refilled before he got to work on the stomach, this time using a sharp sliver of steel to cut away bits of flesh burned beyond recovery before he cleaned.&nbsp; Mmm.&nbsp; A couple of the skinflakes were palmed and stashed in a pocket for later, but once he'd cut enough away the wound was flushed and scrubbed with alcohol, then patched over.&nbsp; Mostly with sterile padding and another bandage, this one angled to avoid the burn on her back.<br><br>"The back is going to be a bit more difficult, but now that the other two are done, we can get to it.&nbsp; Come on, lets get you to bed.&nbsp; You're in no shape to go anywhere tonight anyway.&nbsp; The sleep can't hurt."&nbsp; And it'll give him time to prep her to 'repay him'.&nbsp; With that he slid an arm behind her and lifted her out of the chair, guiding her over to what appeared to be the bottom half of a reclaimed army bunk.&nbsp; "Your stomach'll be tender, but fine for now.&nbsp; Lay out."&nbsp; A bit of help later, she was on her stomach on the bed, like it or not, and he went to work on her back, once more slicing away crispy skin and unhealthy-looking tissue, soaking up blood with scraps and cleaning the wound out with alcohol-soaked rags.&nbsp; Not that he had to.&nbsp; There were antibiotics available.&nbsp; But those didn't hurt nearly as much.&nbsp; When the bloody work was done he patted her matted hair and murmured.&nbsp; "There.&nbsp; Now, sleep.&nbsp; You need it."&nbsp; And he needed to find a few items to really let her remember him by...
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>12-03-2012, 14:29:10</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Kriss knew the man was right. Removing the yoke would be very difficult without proper tools. The wood might be sawed but it was so dense and hardened with tar that it would take hours to an experimented person to cut through it with a sharpened saw. And maybe the saw would have to be changed in the process. And then, the sawing would have to be repeated on both side of each bolt. Still, she had hoped that the man could rid her from that infernal weight she had to carry.<br><br><strong>"I understand,"</strong> she said. <strong>"Thanks anyway for helping me with my wounds. You may be sure my friends and me will reward you for that."</strong><br><br>She looked with interest as the man prepared the tools he would use to heal her wounds. He was obviously working with assurance and this reassured her. Somehow this man had been a medical assistant. She was lucky to have met him.<br><br>When he presented her with the bottle of whiskey, she was first reluctant about the idea of getting drunk, but she also knew what was awaiting her. She was helpless anyway, and alcohol would make the disinfection of her wounds less painful. So, as he tilted the bottle against her lips, she allowed the liquid to flow down her mouth. The alcohol burned her throat and she coughed but still had to swallow it. She was not used to drink such strong beverage and she felt the whiskey stream down her oesophagus and warm her empty stomach. The bottle had seemed almost empty but still it was quite a good quantity. Several glasses at the least. In her hungry state, the effect did not take long to happen and soon the room was whirling madly around her and her wounds did not feel as painful as before. She felt much more confident too, although her mind had some difficulty to focus on any subject.<br><br>However light-minded as she felt, when the man first touched the burned sole of her heel with pure alcohol, the pain shot through her foot as if he had been touching it with a red-hot nail. She screamed high and tried to pull her leg back. He had been prepared to that reaction and he hold her tight. She tried to straighten herself as well but the yoke forced her to rest against the back of the chair. Somehow, the whiskey had weakened her, or maybe it prevented her from coordinating her muscles to lift the weight properly.<br><br>Screaming and trembling, she contorted her helpless body as he healed her foot. Her blurred eyes did not allow her to focus on the man's face. Still she was grimacing and her muscles were bulging hard as she tried to escape the pain. A few times she tried to kick him with her good foot but she was too stoned to aim correctly and she did little arm.<br><br>The healing of her belly was not as painful but it took longer, which compensated. In the middle of the haze of pain, Kriss wondered whether this was different from the torture she had been subjected to at the Cathedral. The pain was almost as unbearable, and it was longer, slower. There even seemed to be the same sadistic grin on healer's face, although in her current state she was probably just unable to distinguish it from concentration.<br><br>At last however, the healing of her belly too was completed and she tried to focus her eyes on her wound, neatly bandaged. Now that the alcohol was no longer burning her raw flesh, she could feel an improvement. She knew that the pain would slowly subside as the wounds would regenerate. Still, the word MURDRER would remain for ever, engraved on the skin of her belly.<br><br>Walking to the bed was difficult. The room was still spinning around her and the ground seemed to be shaky and unstable as that of a raft. Without Billing's help she would never have done it. The whiskey was fumbling her brains even more now and she found it difficult to speak clearly now. Still, she managed to thank him as he let her lie down on the bed, face first, or at least she believed she had thanked him.<br><br>She felt him sit on the small of her back and again the pure alcohol gnawed at her raw flesh. The pain was much less though. Her back was less sensitive and the whiskey had a tighter grip on her sensation. When at last the medic was done, Kriss turned her head as far as she could, trying to look at him and thank him. She tried to lift her torso, forgetful of the presence of the yoke.<br><br>She felt sleepy, she felt well, she felt warm, she felt secure. As she invited her to sleep, all she was able to do was to nod. There she was, laying on the bed, the yoke resting on the metal frame. Except for the torn tank top and the bra, she was naked, her strong buttocks and athletic legs laying straight on the canvas of the bed. Her feet were dangling down, out of the frame. Her red mane was splayed around her head.<br><br>A fuzzy thought of modesty fluttered in Kriss' blurry brains. <strong>"Please... Cover my... ass..."</strong> she managed to whisper before falling into a deep, alcohol-induced sleep.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Kazyth</strong> on <strong>14-03-2012, 06:03:27</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Wooooo boy, was that ever a lot of fun.&nbsp; A good ole time, listening to her scream and yelp, fighting off those sporadic and badly aimed kicks, smelling blood and sweat and skin.&nbsp; Reminded Billings of a few little... diversions he'd taken for him self while out on assignment.&nbsp; After the Marines, of course.&nbsp; See, he hadn't lied, he'd actually been a battlefield butcher for the Jarheads for a while, before certain leanings and indiscretions had been discovered.&nbsp; Well, sometimes such things could be swept under the rug, but not all the time, and Billing's had been some that just weren't going to be buried.&nbsp; After being drummed out of the Marines as quietly as possible, mercenary work was really the only thing that could pay the bills.&nbsp; Less safe, sure, and often bloodier.&nbsp; All of which suited him fine.&nbsp; And, as long as it didn't get in the way of a job, whatever a merc did on his own time was his own business.<br><br>Once she finally passed out he'd taken a few moments to just look at her, naked and fit on the bed, all sorts of brutal thoughts just dancing through his oft-unbalanced head.&nbsp; Cover her ass, eh?&nbsp; Yeah, that could be done, eventually.&nbsp; First, though, he grabbed himself the cracked remains of a permanent marker and delicately drew "Fuck" on her left ass cheek and "Here" on her right, figuring the next fools who got their hands on her might want to know exactly where would hurt her the most, especially after that bike in the dirtpipe.&nbsp; That done, he wandered out to grab the bike and pry off a wheel, then clip down the spokes with into sharper metal spikes, each about an inch in length.&nbsp; Those went with a handful of old fishing weights and line, which he used to braid her hair rather inexpertly into about two dozen little braids, each one studded with woven-in bent metal spikes and a couple of lead weights tied with fishing line, really all sorts of knotted and tangled up in the braids so they'd make the hair move about.<br><br>Just to make sure she stayed under while he worked her back was covered with an old towel, letting each of the cruel soon-to-be lashes rest on the faded brown material until he'd nimbly set her up to scratch and batter the shit out of her shoulders every time her head moved.&nbsp; And then it was time to get what was coming to him, his price for saving her life.&nbsp; Not that she'd probably see it that way, which really only made things more enjoyable for him.&nbsp; After allowing a few hours of sleep for the both of them, him in the chair and her in the bed, he'd stomped over to her, gathered up the braids in the towel to keep the surprise for later, and then gripped the yoke on her right side and flipped her out of the bed to land on her back on the floor.&nbsp; Before the clatter of wood and bells could still he'd moved to straddle her, shoving a rusty leather-wrapped O of metal into her mouth the moment she opened it, then tightening the stained leather straps behind her head, wrapping and knotting them firmly enough to dimple her cheeks and crack the corners of her mouth.<br><br>"I know who you are, you know," he rumbled in that pleasant voice, though the wild light in his eyes betrayed the lust and anger and madness that seethed behind those blue eyes.&nbsp; "You've cost me.&nbsp; You've cost a lot of people, but I don't care none about them.&nbsp; I care about the marks you've stolen from under me.&nbsp; You're the only one who's ever snaked me like that, little bitch, and for that you get to live.&nbsp; For that you got some healing that means you might live to make it back to your people."&nbsp; Strong, calloused fingers nimbly worked his fly, drawing down the zipper and popping the button, his sweaty cock popping out from the confines of loose boxers.&nbsp; "For what you cost me, though, there's a price to be paid.&nbsp; For the help, for what you stole out from under me.&nbsp; Ain't gonna be taken from your cooter though, looks like that's been worked over enough, and I ain't riskin' rust flakes in my cock from taking your ass.&nbsp; But these tits and that mouth, they don't seem like they're worse for wear yet."<br><br>That said her strained and stretched sports bra parted under his knife, letting her tits flop out... at least until he dropped his cock between them and grabbed them tightly, visciously pinching her nipples even has he smashed her funbags around his length.&nbsp; "Oh fuck yeah.&nbsp; Been achin' for a woman for some time now.&nbsp; Lucky for me, I got just what I needed."&nbsp; Hips rolled as he thrusted against her chest, deep and hard pushes, stretching and grinding against the soft mounds, staring down at her the whole time he worked her chest.&nbsp; Pre-cum dotted her skin, welling from his blunt head, while he grunted and strained and sweated atop her.&nbsp; From time to time he'd let go of a tit and stab his fingers into her mouth through the ring gag, testing to see how much she could move her head.&nbsp; Not much, which is good.&nbsp; Eventually he got tired of fucking the tits and slid back, grabbing her hair and the yoke to drag her into a sitting position.<br><br>Probably not better for her, though, because he simply gripped either side of her skull and pushed his cock through the wide ring gag, burying his cock in her throat, holding her in place while he used her mouth, balls slapping against her chin, holding his cock deep in her throat so she gagged and choked on it.&nbsp; "You puke on my dick and you'll regret it, cunt.&nbsp; Got it?"&nbsp; Tits were good, but her mouth was better, and it wasn't long before he thickened, breathing heavy, body trembling... and then he came, forcing his cock as deep into her throat as it would go, holding her there as he drained himself into her mouth and throat, only eventually remembering to let her breath.&nbsp; "There we go," he murmured shakily a minute later, after wiping his saliva-and-cum soaked cock between her tits.&nbsp; "That about evens us up, I think."&nbsp; A single flip, flop was fitted over her damaged and wrapped foot, at towel tucked around her waist, and she was dragged out to the door of his lair, pushed out into the street, jagged hair left to dangle against her back.<br><br>"Don't come back here.&nbsp; I see you or any of you folks again, Patrics or Battery folk, and I kill you.&nbsp; Unless you want to fuck again.&nbsp; I always got some trade for that."&nbsp; Stone and wood grated as he vanished back into his lair, leaving her net clean and bandaged wounds, a flip-flop, and a towel for dignity and use of her body.&nbsp; Along with the hair and a mark that'll ensure the next jackal fucks her ass raw and bloody, but that'll be a special surprise...
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>14-03-2012, 15:37:34</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Kriss position was uncomfortable. The yoke and her ankles were resting on the metal frame of the bed while the rest of her body was resting on its coarse, worn, loose, stained canvas, which caused it to arch backwards noticeably. The yoke was forcing her head at an awkward angle while pressing continuously on the sores of her wrists and neck. Still, she had not slept for more than 24 hours now and her exhaustion combined to the whiskey to let her fall in a deep sleep. While Billing prepared her, she hardly moved at all. Her young body and mind were using the rest to recover from the heavy battering they had been subjected to.<br><br>The wake up was brutal. The bells rang in her ears, there was a hard shock in her skull as she slammed on the floor. Her eyes shot wide open as her brains emerged from the sleep and tried to remember where she was. She opened her mouth to moan and felt something shoved between her teeth and pushed deeper and deeper, parting her jaws painfully wide. Billing was sitting on her, hunched over her head as he tied something behind her neck. Her first reflex was to push him away but the yoke cruelly brought itself back to her memory.<br><br>Her confused, sleepy mind tried to sort out the new situation. <em>Where am I? What the fuck? Who's that? Wasn't he helping me? What is he doing?</em><br><br>She screamed through the large ring gag in protest but could not utter any coherent word. She glared at her aggressor. She tried to kick her knees in his back, but she lacked the leverage to do much damage. The bastard was sitting atop the bandaged wound of her branded belly, making it very painful to struggle.<br><br>At last she ceased her useless bucking and kicking. She could feel a strange feeling in her scalp, as if her hair had been braided, but she could not see what had be done to her, of course. Billing was looking at her with strange eyes, filled with lust, hate and some craziness. Again she tried to talk with him, to no avail. The gag was forcing her jaws so far apart the she was fearing the would be dislocated if she tried to fight it too much. Her lips were stretched very thin over her teeth.<br><br>As he told her he had recognised her, her heart sank in despair. She had not realised how much hate she had managed to generate in the previous years. She wanted to argue, to defend her point of view, to bribe him, but the gag ensured she could not say anything.<br><br>And then he showed his knife. She shivered as the cold blade touched the sweat-covered skin of her chest, as it slid under her tank top and bra, between the firm mounds of her breasts. And then her last piece of clothing, if one excepted her remaining shoe and her bandages, snapped off. Her proud boobs seemed to bounce up as they were released. She had always worn tight bras to ensure her breasts would not bounce too much when she was running and fighting. Suddenly, they were exposed in all their glory, with her darker areolae and hard nipples contrasting with her pale skin.<br><br>She wrinkled her nose as the man freed his cock and landed it on her chest. The sweaty, floppy, flaccid touch sickened her and she had to resist the urge to retch. Because of the yoke, she could hardly see it. She had to lift her head and press her chin against the wood to glance at her chest over her cheek bones. But she could feel the beast growing and swelling. Billing positioned it between her breasts and then pinched her nipples hard, bringing them together, wrapping her firm female flesh around the dick. She moaned from pain and disgust. She tried to utter a protestation, which once again came out like an incoherent babble.<br><br>And then Billing began to hump her breasts, rubbing his shaft between her hard-pressed boobs. Their sweats were mixing and providing lubrication. She could feel it grow even larger, while the hairy testicles rubbed back and forth against her skin. A fetid, fishy smell was attacking her flaring nostrils. Each thrust was grinding her sore back against the damp concrete. The pain in her nipples was burning. Droplets of sweat dripped from his face onto her.<br><br>The breast-fucking seemed to last for an eternity. Kriss was clenching her eyes, awaiting for him to cum, hoping he would leave her alone after that. But suddenly she was yanked by her hair and forced to sit up, and what followed was even worse. The turgid, purplish, pre-cum and sweat-covered cock was forced into her gaping mouth until it banged against the back of her throat. The next thrust propelled it even farther and Kriss' nose was flattened against the hairy, filthy crotch of her rapist.<br><br>And the rape continued. She could hardly breathe now as Billing rarely pulled his manhood enough to let air pass through. Her eyes bulged out, her face turned red. She felt the blood-gorged cock-head pounding against her gullet. She was gagging, she was retching, she was puking bile. As she could not expel it out of her mouth, she was forced to swallow it back, some of it making her cough as it flew back into her trachea. It also sometimes happened that some bile made it up her throat, from where the next thrust would piston it up her nose and down her nostrils.<br><br>Kriss was constantly kept on the verge of asphyxia. She had no longer enough air to moan. Instead she was producing hideous and strange noises that hardly sounded like coming out of a human mouth. Each pounding made her freshly pierced nose to bang and grind painfully against the man's pubis. She could not see anything else.<br><br>The mouth rape did not last long though. Suddenly, Billing shoved his manhood even deeper in his victim's throat and began to pump load after load into her. The sticky, warm stuff was spurted down her oesophagus and trachea, causing her to cough and retch helplessly. Kriss thought she was going to die, drowned in her own bile and the man's cum. Her belly was heaving in and out as she vainly tried to force air into her aching lungs. Her muscles were clenching hard as she tried to pull her arms out of the yoke once again. Her feet and legs were contorting and kicking the floor, to no avail.<br><br>At last the invading cock moved out of her mouth, followed by a thick, abundant gobble of saliva and bile, which formed an arching whitish rope between her stretched lower lip and the reddened shaft. Coughing and hick-uping, she puked torrents of slime down her gaping mouth and nostrils as she desperately tried to suck fresh air into her burning lungs.<br><br>Billing did not leave her time to recover. He half-dragged, half carried her out of the building and abandoned her in the middle of the street.<br><br>She was now completely naked, except for one boot and an old towel wrapped around her waist. Her proud breasts were now fully displayed, firmly pointing up, smeared with sperm, her cleavage slick with smelly slime. Something was pulling her hair down. At first she thought he had somehow bound her hair to the yoke but she quickly realised it was worse. He had bound weights to her hair and adorned them with barbs that clawed at her upper back whenever she moved her head. She could force her neck to straighten and lift the weight up, which allowed her to look straight forward, but she knew she would not be able to bear that strain for long and soon her face would be forced back, starring at the sky with her mouth gaping wide, the ring of wire coming from her septum resting across it. The only good things were that her branding wounds were less painful and she could now put more of her weight on her barefoot thanks to its bandaged heel and the flip-flop.<br><br>She had no idea how much time she had spent in the man's lair. Several hours at the least as she could see a faint glow appearing in the eastern sky. She had better walk as much as possible before the day came and the streets got busier.<br><br>Limping, lurching the yoke and its tinkling bells, trying to steer in the right direction without having to lift her head too often to rest her neck muscles, she continued her progression down the fifth avenue. After a dozen steps, she felt the towel begin to get loose around her hips. A few more paces after, it silently slid down her legs, leaving her stark naked.<br><br>She no longer cared about ringing her bells. However discrete she had tried to remain so far, she had always been heard and seen. Now she felt that she had better moving as fast as she could. And thus, with each step, the bells were ringing loud. At the same time, her own braided hairs were flogging her back and flanks with dozens of sharp barbs that soon covered her skin in bloody scratches. Her healed foot allowed her to walk faster now and she managed to walk through two blocks without making any bad encounter.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>16-03-2012, 15:18:50</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				The weight of the yoke was beginning to show. It must have been 30 pounds and it was difficult for Kriss to rest. A couple of times she had managed to rest one of its ends on the sill of a window. That had brought her some momentary relief but not much. And it had done nothing to calm the ache coming from the constant grinding and chaffing of her neck and wrists. That pain was slowly rendering her crazy. She did not dare to lie down though. Getting on her feet was far too difficult and slow and this made her totally defenceless.<br><br>Since the weights had been added to her hair, the situation had worsened. Now, most of the time, her head was bent backward with her skull resting against the rear edge of the yoke. This put more strain on her neck muscles, while her barbed braids kept lashing at her upper back.<br><br>As she walked through the night, and in spite of the chill, her naked body was covered in sweat. Her arm muscles were contracted as she tried to lift the yoke and prevent it from resting and grinding against her sore shoulders. Still she was making good progress. Until at some point she was remarked by a group of night scavengers who were operating along the 46th street.<br><br>They began to gather around her, cat-calling and making lure comments. There were even a few women among them. A man walked closer and reached to touch her bare breasts. With a hiss, Kriss twisted her torso and thrust the right end of her yoke into the man's head. There was sick crack as a corner of the heavy timber collided with the man's skull. And then he collapsed, without a word.<br><br>Forcing her head straight, Kriss glared at the men around her. Because of the huge ring gag spreading her mouth, she could not threaten them but she hoped her eyes would be enough to convey her message. And indeed, the men in front of her made a step backwards.<br><br>She heard a sound behind her and she twisted her yoke to hit whoever was trying to attack her from behind. She felt the yoke connect with something with a loud thud and a cracking sound. But she also felt a powerful yank on her hair, pulling her head backward. Her aggressor yelped as his hand was pierced by the many barbs entangled in her dreadlocks. His left arm broken by the yoke blow, his hand wounded, he hurried away, leaving Kriss alone.<br><br>Her balance broken by the yank of her hair, Kriss was trying to recover her equilibrium, her body arched and twist in an awkward posture, her abs rippling under her bandaged belly. She staggered a few times and the scavengers backed up, scared by her. Alas, gravity finally won and she fell backward, her yoke and head bouncing a couple of times before halting to a rest.<br><br>Seeing that she was helpless, the scavengers approached again. One of them kicked her legs apart and, pulling an erect cock from his shredded pants, approached her, a lustful grin on his face. Kriss was readying herself to kick the man's crotch when there was a detonation and his head exploded, splashing gore and brain all over her naked skin. The man fell to his knees and then on his face, his body athwart the girl's lower body.<br><br>The other scavengers fled like scared birds, leaving her alone in the middle of street, struggling to push the warm cadaver off her body. She knew she had to get back on her feet before they came back.<br><br>Too late. She heard a sound and managed to see a man approaching. He looked different from the beggars that had assaulted her, better clothed and more confident. She had no choice but let him help her. Her previous encounter had made her wary. Certainly this man too had some reason to help her. But he seemed kind enough, and to have some instruction. Maybe he was different. She followed him in his apartment, whose relative cleanness and organisation comforted her.<br><br>He said that he was a doctor and this seemed true. She was lucky to have found him. As he washed her body and she was able to rest her arms and neck from the weight of the yoke, she began to feel better. The injection in her face were painful but soon the anaesthetic began to dull the pain in her face and the removal of her piercing was hardly felt.<br><br>He had to help her to get on her belly as the yoke was so difficult to manoeuvre.<br><br><strong>"That's very kind of you to help me. I already feel better,"</strong> she said once he had washed her backside. <strong>"You are a good man. You know, if you would help me to reach the Battery Fort, I can assure you that you could join our community. You would have a much better life among us, and we could use your skills."</strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>20-03-2012, 01:46:19</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Kriss slowly emerged from her artificial sleep. It took her some time to remember what had happened and then everything came back in rush, to her last memories. They were pleasant memories as she had won herself an ally and had been healed and cared for.<br><br>But as the cobwebs slowly evaporated from her dazzled mind, she was struggling to reconcile her last souvenirs with her present situation. She was now standing outside, the morning sun was already high in the air. She was in a park, against a tree... She looked around, trying to focus her blurry eyes. <em>It looks like Bryant Park</em>, she thought. <em>What the hell do I do here?</em> A strong smell of urine came to her nostrils. She tried to look down at her body but the yoke stopped her. Still, she could feel she was wearing something like a skirt, and shoes on both feet, although her chest was still bare. There was a strange itching in her nipples, and in her pussy as well. And also against her face. As if something was glued to it. She shook her head and a strand of blond hair swirled in front of her. <em>What the fuck? I am blond now?</em><br><br>She could not see herself, but to anybody, she was now totally unrecognisable. Gone were her clothes, gone was her fiery red mane, and her body looked like a wreck. Her ridiculous outfit finished to render a total stranger to the city.<br><br>Kriss tried to move. She felt something heavy attached to her feet. She lifted one foot and had a shock at the sight of the knee-long, striped red and white socks, the knee pads and the vintage roller-skates. What a bad joke!<br><br>Cautiously, she straightened herself until she could stand. Then she attempted a step. The roller-skates were not helping. By chance she was standing in tall grass, which prevented the skates from rolling. She looked around at the buildings and got her bearings. She was indeed in Bryant Park. What she was doing here, she had no idea, but at least she knew which direction to take.<br><br>She walked across the park and then followed the 40th street until she was back on the 5th avenue. Now she was out of the grass and she would have to skate. She made a few tries. The street were no longer the smooth strips of asphalt they used to be. Covered with gravel and rumbles, cracked, they were a dangerous ground for a roller-skater champion. And Kriss was no champion...<br><br>She fell often, weighed down by her yoke. Her left heel was still painful, making it even harder to keep her balance. Every fall was painful as she could not use her arms to absorb the impact. Getting back on her feet was even more a challenge than before.<br><br>The worse was maybe the flies. They were attracted by the urine that was soaking her clothes and wig and Kriss could do little to scare them away. They kept flying around her and crawling on her bare skin. Only her face was protected thanks to the latex doll mask she was wearing.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Arioch</strong> on <strong>26-03-2012, 20:14:34</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Ogre and Dawson headed out early on their assigned scouting mission. It was a daily event, allowing them the opportunity to leave the fortress, see what was going on and find out the latest rumors. Sometimes, things worked out and they found stuff that could be useful to the Patricks. So far, the two hadn't seen or heard much. Dawson was the leader of the group, he was the brains while Ogre, well, he was around for his brawn. Brains on him didn't seem to work properly, but, when it came to fighting, or brute force, he was the guy to have around.&nbsp; The two were traveling light, just simple homemade weapons and their clothes. Everything else would have to be scavenged. <br><br>After 30 minutes though, they encountered Ink. He was an old Patrick that had been cast out. Rumors were that he had constantly questioned the leadership and even tried to start a mutiny. The fact that he had been a member in good standing up to that point was his saving grace. He was only cast out and not given much other punishment. Other rumors were that he was just a crazy old man, something that was believable. People went nuts faster these days, especially the older ones that still remembered something of life before everything went to hell.&nbsp; Ink was still useful, he traded tattoos for whatever he could get and then traded that with the Patricks, at least those that were willing to deal with him.&nbsp; Today, he had a doozy.<br><br>"Narrowed in on a gun today. I can take you there."&nbsp; A gun was something that was a prized possession. If Dawson could come back with that info, and it panned out, well, he might get some extra benefits for that. And that was all it took for the two to take Ink along. Even if they couldn't find the gun, the man was pretty funny to listen to, and Ogre liked talking to him, which helped keep Ogre in step with the activities.<br><br>It took another hour to be in the area, the evidence was there, a corpse, stripped naked with a clear gun shot wound. Dawson noted the location and then moved out of the area. They didn't get close enough to the body, just enough to tell that it was a fresh corpse and, according to Ogre who had eagle eyes, that it had been shot.&nbsp; Moving around a building they decided to check a few other things, maybe talk to some people and then narrow down where the bullet came from. <br><br>Exiting an alley Ogre started to laugh, "Heh, heh, someone did to a blond what we did to that bitch last night?" Dawson had no idea what he was referring to and turned to look at the large man, a questioning look on his face. Ogre, surprisingly, read the question and answered, "There is a blond in the same situation we put the Grey Bitch in last night. Over there. See?" Dawson turned to look and was shocked to see that there was a blond women in a block. But he knew it wasn't really a blond.<br><br>"Good eyes, Ogre. But that ain't no blond. How many people you think would make a block like that and then use it on a woman the same night we did? I'll save you the trouble, not many and not likely. I think our Grey Bitch got some help. So, why don't we go see about that. Get her back into the state she should be in. And maybe get us a bit of her as well as make the boss happy when he hears about his."<br><br>Dawson didn't wait for an answer and headed off after the woman. She was having problems moving so it wouldn't be an issue. Then, using hand signals he motioned for Ink and Ogre to move around her while he came up from her rear, right flank, "Well hey, baby. How you doing today?"&nbsp; He asked the question and then smiled when she turned. Dawson was wearing a pair of old, tan cargo pants that now looked grey going black with all the dirt and grime. One pocket on his leg was gone completely while the other was missing the flap to close it. He had on a shirt that was patched together from a couple different ones and was wearing boots, two different ones. The first was an old combat boot that had many pieces of string fashioned into a lace and the other boot was an old motorcycle style with a broken strap that used to hold a buckle. A broken bicycle handle fashioned into a weapon in his hand and resting on his shoulder.<br><br>Kriss then heard Ogre laugh. Whirling about she saw him in front of her, he was dressed in a mishmash of clothes as well. The prominent item being the board with several nails in it held in his left hand. She then heard another sound coming from her left and slightly behind, turning that way she saw the old man, leering at her smile broadly. He was wearing an old coat missing one sleeve and a stained t-shirt. A pair of pants that seemed too big for him and tennis shoes missing the toe portion. A small bag dangled from his left hand and a broken pipe was in his right.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>27-03-2012, 12:56:32</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Kriss had become more efficient on her roller-skates. She had found that by making very short slides she was better able to recover her balance should one of the wheels stumble on an obstacle. Of course, this was not allowing her to move very fast but still, once she had managed not to fall every three steps, she was moving faster than by simply walking.<br><br>However, sliding on the roller-skates was rapidly tiring her leg muscles, unaccustomed to this sport. The shoes felt heavy on her feet. Moreover, the wider moves she was forced to have with the yoke meant that it was grinding painfully against her neck. Some blood could be seen worming down her chest. The flies kept being a plague, as they buzzed all around her urine-smelling body.<br><br>As the bells had been removed from the yoke, they were no longer deafening her with their tingling, but the sound of her roller-skates on the pavement was preventing her from hearing as well as she would have liked to. Moreover, the yoke was preventing her from looking behind her without twisting her whole torso. Thus, when a male voice boomed behind her, she jumped and almost fell. Moments later she realised she was actually encircled among three thugs.<br><br>Her face, hidden by the glued-on doll mask, could not show her emotions as she recognised at least two of the faces she had seen in the Cathedral. They were scouts. She remembered having seen them in the streets before that fateful day. The third man was older and she did not remember him. Obviously they knew who she was. The tattoos on her back and belly, and the yoke, did not allow the mask and the blonde wig to fool them.<br><br>Kriss looked around for an escape route. There were none. She was in the middle of the street, with one thug in front of her and another behind. She would have to fight. The one who had approached her from behind seemed smaller. She let him get a little closer and suddenly she rushed at him, her miniskirt lifting in the move and revealing her bare crotch, attempting to hit him with the right-hand half of her yoke. If she could break his skull, maybe the two others would run away.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Arioch</strong> on <strong>27-03-2012, 20:21:50</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				One of the reasons that Dawson was a scout was his quick mind and quick feet. Seeing her move toward him he merely pivoted on one foot and leaned back, letting her pass close to him but not cause him any harm. His arm holding the bicycle handle then swung down and struck her on the back, part of the metal hitting the burn scar and knocking her down, "Now now. No need to make things worse."&nbsp; He then moved over and sat upon her back, "See, we just came to see how you were doing. Now, well, now things are different." A fist then came down and struck the back of her head, "You dumb bitch. You still have a fucking attitude after all we did to you, well, we'll just fix that."<br><br>He stood up and motioned for Ogre to come over, the two men then lifted her by the yoke and drug her further into the park and out of sight of anyone else, "I'm not sure who the fuck got you into this get up, but we are going to get you out." He grips the blond hair and pulls thinking it would come right off. When it doesn't he shakes his head, grabs it with both hands and pulls with all his might, "Son of a bitch, she's fucking bald!"&nbsp; Dawson then started to laugh at her amusing look not concerned with the skin that came off with the wig, "You looked pretty good before, but now, well, a bald bitch doesn't look quite as good."<br><br>They found a suitable spot and dropped Kriss upon the ground. Dawson moved to her head and placed on knee next to her head, "And this fucking face of yours, that shit ain't right either." Reaching down he grips the mask and pulls, seeing that it wouldn't come off as easily as the wig he sighs, "Ogre, rip this thing off her, seems like it is fixed pretty good." He then moves aside as the large man comes over, squats down and takes a firm grip on the mask before pulling it off in one massive move.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>28-03-2012, 16:57:47</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Kriss' failed attempt to hit her attacker made her lose her balance. She tried to recover it but her roller-skates kept gliding in all directions. A powerful blow in the middle of her back sent her down, face first. She landed heavily, her naked, nippleless breasts absorbing some of the impact and dragging under her chest against the pavement. The yoke bounced a couple of times, banging against her skull. A new blow on the back of her head finished to dazzle her.<br><br>She felt the yoke being lifted and she was dragged by it along the streets, her roller-skates and some times her shins raking the macadam. The edge of the yoke hole was pressing against her lower jaw, paralysing her head and making her breathing difficult. Around her, Manhattan was spinning like a whirlwind. She was blinking madly in a vain attempt to focus her eyes and get rid of the tears that were blurring her vision. The Saint-Patrick scouts dragged her all the way back to Bryan Park and let her fall on the grass, on her belly.<br><br>She was beginning to recover from the blows when she felt a painful yank on her scalp. They were pulling on the wig, which was glued to her skull. Her head was pulled backwards until it banged against the yoke. She had the impression that her scalp was being peeled from her skull, that the skin was going to tear and leave the bone bare. She moaned and kicked her feet into the grass. Her up-turned, masked face remained strangely apathetic, contrasting with the obvious pain her body language was expressing.<br><br>The men were jerking on the wig, each jolt banging her head against the yoke. Progressively, the wig and the skin began to give in and the blonde mane was slowly, excruciatingly peeled from her head, leaving a bloody mess of torn and bruised skin scattered with little remnants of the wig pelt.<br><br>Then the process started again with the mask, only more painful. As she is on her belly, there is little she can do but kick the earth and dig the gum-pads in front of her roller-skates into the soft earth. Luckily, only the edge of the mask had been glued to her face or the removal would have been much harder. Anyway, it seemed that the skin of her face was going to be peeled, as if cut all around the mask.<br><br>At last it came free and the man who had been pulling at it almost fell backward. It had left a red line all around her face.<br><br><strong>"Didn't you do enough to me already? Do you really have to acharn yourself on me? Why don't you leave me alone?"</strong> Kriss said once the pain had receded a bit.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Arioch</strong> on <strong>29-03-2012, 16:27:25</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"Enough?" Dawson says before he motions ogre back to help flip Kriss over. The two men quickly flip her onto her back, dropping her like a sack of potatoes, "Fuck no! You terrorize the whole city and want some fucking mercy? Fuck you, bitch!" He then spits on her before dropping down to sit on her stomach, "What the fuck is with these bandages? Without letting her answer he rips the bandage on her left breast off with two hard tugs, "Holy fuck! Look at this!" He is talking to the other two. While the others move closer to look at the discovery Dawson rips off the other bandage, "Somebody cut off her nipples. I'll be damned."<br><br>He grins as he looks down at Kriss and then smacks her face, "Somebody didn't want you looking like you. Did you pay someone to do this, huh? He smacks her again before resting his hands upon the yoke as he thinks, "We've got to mark her some way. Let others know who the hell she is."<br><br>"I got mah tools." Ink replied as he reached for his bag and jiggled it, "Be mah pleasure to help the St. Patricks. I could mark her up good. Everyone would know who she is after that."<br><br>A big grin formed on Dawson's face, "Per-fect." Both syllables were pronounced carefully as he stood up, "Ogre, lets move her to the stump over there. We can hold her against that and Ink can get to work on her."<br><br>"I want to fuck her." The large man said as he stepped over to do as he was told. He reached down and helped lift her up and then started dragging her along, "I'm going to fuck her."<br><br>"Yeah, yeah, we'll all take a turn." Both men placed her bent over against a tree stump and wedge the left side of the yoke against two small branches that had started to regrow, "Put something on her face. So anyone looking at her will know her name."<br><br>While Dawson was talking to Ink, Ogre dropped his pants and moved behind Kriss. The big man then thrust quickly into her, not caring how it bothered her or even trying to use any spit as lubricant. When he felt the resistance from the stitches, he didn't question it and just pushed in harder until his cock made its way inside.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>30-03-2012, 12:19:00</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Kriss was cringing as the tree stump was grinding and cutting against the skin of her back. Most painful was the ragged wooden edge was that was raking at her shoulder-blade branding. The yoke was pulling her head and neck down, off the stump, forcing her back into a painful arch and preventing her from seeing what was happening between her legs. She could only feel them held open and was unable to close them because of the brute who was kneeling between them.<br><br>As she struggled on the stump, her short mini-skirt was trussed around her hips, looking more like a belt than a real piece of cloth. Between its upper hem and the lower hem of the narrow leather corset, the protruding, charred letters "MURDRER" were forming a strong contrast against her pale skin. The elbow and knee pads laced to her limbs, assorted to her heavy roller skates, formed a strange sight.<br><br>Her pussy was still sore from being stitched and when she felt the cock press against her cleft, she moaned in pain. She was expecting the man to stop or cut the stitches but he only pressed harder. The pressure increased, trying to part her nether lips. The thread was strong though, and it did not break easily. As the pressure increased, her skin began to stretch and the stitches to cut directly through her delicate flesh. The fresh agony brought tears to her eyes and she cried, with louder yelps whenever a stich cut entirely through her flesh and snapped off.<br><br>Progressively, painfully, her vulva got opened, like a zip, the stitching thread leaving her labia dented and bloody. At last, the opening was large enough and Ogre was able to push his huge cock entirely inside Kriss' much-abused vagina, extracting another high-pitched screech of pain from her.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Arioch</strong> on <strong>02-04-2012, 17:39:47</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Dawson and Ink had been discussing what was to be done and were paying no attention until Kriss started to screech. He looked down at her then back to Ogre, "God damn, Ogre. Couldn't you wait a minute or two longer?"&nbsp; He chuckles and turns back to Ink, "Go ahead and work your magic. I'm sure it will all be good."<br><br>The old man nods and sets his bag down on the stump next to Kriss. Carefully, he opens it up and takes out a couple of vials filled with black-ish ink. Then, he takes out the main tool. It is an old, rusty looking contraption that was pieced together. Several types of sharp, pointed pieces coming together to make one ugly looking point.&nbsp; He holds it up to the light and then takes out a small file and starts to sharpen the points he can easily reach. Once he is satisfied, he takes out an old rag and wipes her forehead. Moving around the yoke he looks down at her, "Tha more ya move, tha more its gonna hurt." Dipping the tool into the ink he dabs it on the cloth and then takes out a small board, worn smooth at the handle and covered with indentations at the other end. Leaning over her, he lowers the tool to her skin and then places the board against the back. With a series of practiced strokes, he begins to tap the tool, driving the points into her skin and depositing the ink.&nbsp; It was an ancient method of tattooing, but, the best anyone could do these days.<br><br>Ogre finishes and pulls out of Kriss, "She was fucking tight. Must not have had anyone my size before. Looks like I tore her a bit."<br><br>Dawson moves around and takes a look, "Damn. I heard some of the guys had used her before letting her go, but, damn. I didn't think that would have happened to her. Maybe next time, use some spit or something."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>03-04-2012, 16:01:59</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Ogre's cock was a monster. Even if Kriss' vulva had not been stitched closed, the rape would have been painful. She felt torn open, ripped apart. She was banging her roller skates into the man's back to little effect. With each of his thrusts she was yelping with pain.<br><br>Meanwhile, the older man had prepared his instruments and was approaching her face with his barbarous tool. She tried to turn her face away but the other man had clamped his knees on both sides of her head and she could not move. The black, dripping points got closer to her eyes, which were now wide open with terror. Ink rested the points on her forehead and using a piece of wood as a hammer, began to tap it into her skin.<br><br>Kriss had never been tattooed and she did not know what the old man was doing. To her, it felt as if he were trying to hammer the dirty nails into her skulls. She got frantic and squirmed with all the strength she could muster, arching her back away from the tree stump, fiercely jerking and kicking her legs, and contorting her arms as much as she could. Each blow of the "hammer" was echoing through her skull and she felt blood running down her brow. The pain was not so intense, but the idea of having her skull broken open was terrifying.<br><br>She was so scared that she barely noticed Orge spurting his semen into her raw vagina. At some point he moved out of her and this she felt as a great relief as her vagina was allowed to take again its natural shape and she was no longer crushed under his weight.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Arioch</strong> on <strong>05-04-2012, 16:43:04</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The face tattoo took about an hour. Ogre and Dawson both took turns holding her head down while the other watched out for trouble.&nbsp; Ink actually got into a rhythm for getting ink and working on the design, tap, tap, tap, dip, tap, tap, tap, dip.&nbsp; For an old man, he was comfortable with the circumstances, climbing onto her chest, placing a leg over her yoke and moving about her head to get the right angles.<br><br>Dawson took an opportunity to have sex with Kriss as well. Although, not wanting sloppy seconds, he went straight for her ass. Nowhere near as big as Ogre and a little more considerate, he worked his way in after spitting on the head of his cock. It was the only lube, other than the remains of the earlier fuck that he used.&nbsp; Unlike Ogre, he took his time. The man appeared to want to enjoy what he was doing for as long as possible. His pace would change from fast to slow and then return. Eventually, the sensation reached its peak, he pulled out and came upon her breasts and corset.&nbsp; Her skirt was then used to clean himself off before he returned to help out.<br><br>Once the job was done Ogre and Dawson held her down while Ink took his turn. The man started with her pussy, but, after what Ogre had done, he pulled out and fucked her ass as well. Luckily for her, it didn't take him as long as it did Ogre and he pulled right out.&nbsp; The two men holding her then pulled her off the stump and dropped her on the ground, "Ya know, I can use that string." Dawson says as he starts to work upon the binds of her corset. It didn't take him long before he was rolling up the string and stuffing it into his pocket, "Oh, and one more thing." Dawson flips her onto her back and then places a knee into her stomach. A small, plastic vial is held in front of her, "I want a souvenir."<br>&nbsp;he then took out an old toothbrush handle that had a thick wire attached to it. Quickly, he jabs it into her left breast and pulls it out. The vial is lowered and a couple seconds he holds it back up, half full with her blood. "Perfect. Something to remind me of the time we had."<br><br>Standing over her he looks down, "The Grey Bitch." She didn't know he was reading the words, which were actually spelled The Gray Bich. Dawson then spit upon her face and started to turn. Ogre took the opportunity to piss upon her chest.&nbsp; "Nice job. Lets go see if we can get more info on that gun.&nbsp; Ink, I'ma put in a good word for you."&nbsp; The three men then walk off leaving Kriss upon the ground to fend for herself.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>10-04-2012, 10:44:20</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The constant ticking of the nails on her forehead was driving Kriss mad. The pain was sharp enough, but the sound seemed to echo through her skull and with time it felt like her skull would explode. The tattooist's sweat kept dripping on her face as he worked on his piece of art.<br><br>Meanwhile, the other man raped her ass, reviving the pain she felt there. By now, her contorted body was too aching and cramped to give much of a fight. The tattooist was preventing her from seeing her rapist, not that it mattered much. She had lost the count of the men who had forced her holes since she had been captured. Finally, she felt the man cum over her chest, covering her proud breasts with his hot, sticky jism.<br><br>Then if was the turn of the old man to rape her back orifice. Her sex was by now too stretched to bring any pleasure to a normal-sized cock. It was gaping wide and dripping cum mixed with some blood.<br><br>At last, after peeing on her chest, the three men abandoned her. She was lying on her back on the tree stump. It took her some time to fall from it. Her spine was stiff from having been pounding against the wooden edges for so long. Her neck was weighed down by the heavy yoke and her feet by the roller-skates. She was suffering from a hammering head-ache and her pussy was throbbing with agony. A strong smell of sperm and urine was emanating from her soiled torso.<br><br>She managed to get back on her knees, and then on her feet. The grass of the square was helping her to walk on the wheels of her shoes as it did not allow them to roll freely. As she stood up, her corset fell down, leaving her with only her stained skirt, socks, elbow and knee pads to cover her battered body.<br><br>With difficulty, she staggered along the square and got back on the fifth avenue.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Notadrywall</strong> on <strong>11-04-2012, 05:36:35</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				It was quiet on the corner of 38th and 5th. It usually was these days, people tended to give old Jeremiah a wide berth. Word was that he'd taken a turn for the worst the past few months; since his wife passed away. Not physically, of course, he was still the same bear of a man he had always been. This was indeed the problem.<br><br>Jeremiah didn't know what they said about him. He and Elaine had always been reclusive, understandably given the nature of Manhattan's average resident, and since her death, he only emerged to scavenge for additional supplies. The rest of his time was spent in in the ruined second floor office he had made his home, either gazing out the window across the abandoned intersection, or knelt in prayer at his home-made shrine. <br><br>Being engaged in the former, Jeremiah immediately spotted the lone figure of a young woman as she stumbled into the intersection. Even from a distance, he could see that she was in considerable distress; wearing heavy restraints, and all but naked in the midday sun. He couldn't make out the roller-blades from where he sat, but Jeremiah could tell something was wrong with her feet by the way she stumbled and staggered along, making pitifully slow progress. <br><br>Jumping to his feet, Jeremiah hasted from his home and down the crumbling flight of stairs that took him to ground level. He exited the building, and made hurriedly towards the woman, for time being intent on helping the poor soul. This goodwill wouldn't last long. As he drew closer, he began to see the full extent of the abuse she'd suffered; he skin was a patchwork of cuts and bruises, her head had been shaved, or possibly even scalped, and she had been dressed in an outfit that granted less dignity then of she had been naked. From ten meters away he could small the reek of dried urine.<br><br>"By all merciful God, you poor woman!" He gasped as he came up in-front of her, nothing but concern in his voice. The words had already left his lips before his eyes settled on the words inelegantly tattooed on her forehead. As such, there was no indicator when all good will left his mind. <em>The Grey Bitch</em> he knew that name, of course he knew that name, though he had not used it himself, his own name for the wretched woman was less uncouth, but as least as hateful. In retrospect, it was clear who she was, he new that face well enough, even without her red hair. Those heartless green eyes gave it away.<br><br>Before he knew what he was doing, Jeremiah roared in fury. "You Bitch!" he lashed out with his fist, driving a brutal punch into the helpless woman's stomach. The powerful blow sent the woman staggering, the wind knocked out of her. Jeremiah drove forward, forcing the already unstable woman off her feet, sending her toppling to the ground like a tree. She impacted heavily, and no doubt painfully, on her back. Oblivious to her cries of pain, Jeremiah kicked her prone form, his boot impacting solidly with her side. <br><br>After the initial blows, Jeremiah threw himself on top of the woman, pinning her with his enormous form. His hands grasped for throat. Forcing his fingers into the gap between her chin and the yoke, he began to squeeze her windpipe. In his rage, he fully intended to choke the life out of her then and there, and for almost a minute he knelt, straddling the helpless woman, with hands wrapped tightly around her neck.<br><br>Fortunately for Kriss (or perhaps not), Jeremiah caught himself before he did any permanent damage. Still shaking with rage, but with the red haze before his eyes clearing, he clambered to his feet, planting one foot on the bitches yoke to stop her doing the same. He paused now, again running his eyes over the horrendous injuries the girl had sustained, this time with curiosity rather then interest. She'd clearly been beaten already, at least once. She'd also been raped, there was no doubt of that, and Jeremiah could only guess how many times. Her genitals had suffered worse abuse then that though; it appeared that some one had sliced into her vulva at periodic intervals with a blunt knife, though at closer inspection he spotted the small lengths of surgical thread that still rested in ruined pussy, and guessed what had happened. Her nipples, too, had been removed, something that shocked and excited Jeremiah more then anything else.<br><br>He wandered about her bandages though; what injuries they hid that warranted bandaging when the rest of her wounds were left to fester. Leaning down, he roughly tore the bandages from her belly; tugging them loose until the burns underneath were clearly visible. "MURDRER," Jeremiah chuckled humourlessly as he read the fresh branding. It pleased him to see the Grey Bitch marked for what she was, but at the same time, the burnt letters reminded him of the chain link shaped welts, deep and purple, that had formed on Elaine's own stomach as she lay dying form internal injury. <br><br>Now he wondered what to do with her. Part of him still wanted nothing more then to dash her head open on the tarmac. But he knew he couldn't do that. It was clear to him that no coincidence had brought her here, nor was it chance that she was left to wander the same streets as those she had wronged. This was her judgement, a living purgatory, a chance to be redeemed through suffering. Jeremiah looked up at the sky for a moment, offering a pray of thanks to the Lord for this chance for vengeance. He would not kill her; after all, there were many more debts for her to pay before she reached her destination, but he would exact his just revenge.<br><br>"It's time to make things right." He growled at the woman, still pinned beneath his boot. He lent down and took hold of the yoke, taking his foot of it, he hauled the heavy thing up off the ground, taking its captive with it. Straining with the effort of carrying both the woman and the yoke, Jeremiah hauled the whole set up across the intersection to the rusted out hulk of an old car. With a grunt, he slung the woman forward onto its bonnet, leaving her lying on her stomach, her legs tangling over the side.<br><br>Even covered in cuts and filth, Jeremiah had to admit that the Grey Bitch looked inviting, bent over the car hood as she was. In truth, his member had already began to swell when he had first spotted the tortured woman, much to his initial shame. Now though, he proudly pulled his engorged cock from his trousers, and took up position behind the woman. He had not been with a woman, or even indulged himself, since Elaine had died, and he intended to make the most of the opportunity.&nbsp; &nbsp; 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>12-04-2012, 12:00:58</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Kriss had been staggering forward on her heavy roller-skates for some blocks, each step a struggle to keep her balance. She had often fallen on the pavement but she had managed to land on her knees, her knee pads protecting her skin. At least there was something useful in her ridiculous attire. Her freshly tattooed forehead was like in fire. The midday sun was beating on her bare scalp, something she was not used to and did not improve her headache. She was squinting and blinking as she had to face the bright light.<br><br>Nothing happened for a couple of blocks until she saw a man approaching her, a sorry look on his face. He looked sincerely concerned by her state and for a moment she thought he would help her. But suddenly, the man seemed to freeze as his eyes were fixed on her forehead and then his expression switched from compassion to intense hate.<br><br>Kriss made a step backward to prepare her defence but the man was already inside the danger zone. She could do nothing to protect her belly from his vicious punch. The brutal blow winded her and forced her to double over, her wide-open mouth trying to suck air, her green eyes filled with pain and shock. The next blow sent her crashing on her back and the back of her skull hit the ground once again, dazing her.<br><br>Violent kicks followed. Kriss contorted her body to avoid them but, pinned down as she was by the heavy yoke there was little she could do. Her body was twisting and bridging up, her weighted legs were awkwardly trying to kick but that was all. Each kick landed in her ribs and sides, which were already bruised and sore. Whenever the man's foot hit her cracked ribs, a blinding flash of open sunk her almost into unconsciousness.<br><br><strong>"Please... Stop!"</strong> she managed to say in between yelps of pain.<br><br>At last the rain of blows ceased but then the big man sat down on her breasts, flattening them against her rib cage, and his hands began to squeeze her throat. Kriss tried to shake her head to escape the hold but of course this was useless. Her eyes began to bulge, her mouth opened wide and her tongue stuck out. Her crushed windpipe did not let any air through. Her torso was helplessly heaving up and down, trying to suck air into her burning lungs. Her arms were contorting and yanking on the yoke, trying to pull her fists free. Her feet were clanging against the ground. She was trying to speak but no sound would come out of her mouth. She felt her vision narrowing and darkening. She was about to pass out, maybe to die.<br><br>But suddenly the man left her neck alone. The poor girl filled her craving lungs with fresh air, coughing and hissing as her windpipe recovered its normal shape. And then she was dragged by her yoke and thrown over a rusty car. Her chest and belly felt scales of rust claw at her flesh. Her face was resting against near the shattered windshield, her legs dangling free, her muscular butt protruding over the edge of the . The weight of the yoke was once again pinning her down. The front of the car was grinding against her hip bones.<br><br>Hearing the man unzip his pants, she knew she was on for another rape. The yoke was preventing her from seeing behind her but the sound helped her to locate the man. Suddenly, she kicked both her heavy-shoed feet to where the man's crotch probably was. Maybe, if she reached his testicles, he would pass out and she would be able to escape him before he came back to consciousness?
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Notadrywall</strong> on <strong>12-04-2012, 16:16:01</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Jeremiah reeled from the kick, stumbling backwards away from Kriss. His hands went to his groin, and he gasped in pain. The kick had only glanced off his genitals, otherwise he probably wouldn't have still been standing, but the roller-bladed foot had hit hard enough to cause considerable pain. For a moment he was to stunned to react to the attack, but before the bitch could escape, he rose back up, now overtaken with fury <br><br>Again, clouds of rage obscured his vision. Without realising it, he began to yell, words he had read many times before "Mother of whores!" He stepped forwards again, drawing out his belt as he did, "her sins are piled up to heaven! Pay her back double for what she has done!" With a grunt, he swung his belt as hard as he could, lashing it across her exposed back and hips. Without pause, his arm drew back again, and once more he swung a brutal blow across her bare skin. He didn't stop after that, raining blow after blow with a strength born out of blind fury. <br><br>He was counting at first but he quickly lost track of how many times the belt buckle smashed against the woman's sunburnt back. "Vile Jezebel," "Ungrateful Harlot," He shrieked over again as he beat her. As his arm began to tire, his strike finally began to slow, and lessen in force. With one last burst, he laid a final, particularly rough, stroke across her buttocks, before lowering the belt and taking a deep breath.<br><br>By now the Grey Bitch was no doubt somewhat subdued, but Jeremiah didn't take any chances. He took a firm hold of her legs, careful not to be kicked this time, and used his belt to lash them tightly to the front bumper of the car. Leaning over her, he pushed the yoke up the hood, towards the windscreen, arranging her to his liking. Now, he was going to take what he was entitled to. Again his hand went to his groin, liberating his cock. <br><br>Now confident that she would not be kicking him again, Jeremiah took up position behind Kriss, he placed his hands on her hips, and lined up his bulging member with her entrance. He inserted the head slowly, noting the bizarre feeling of her finally sliced - and still bleeding - pussy lips on his cock-head. Once that was in, though, he suddenly slammed the entire length of his member in with a sudden thrust. <br><br>He began to fuck her roughly, with the same brutal vigour with which he had just beaten her. He took no notice of any pain he felt himself as he repeatedly forced the full length of his cock into her. His hands kept a firm grip of on her hips, pulling her back every-time she tried to squirm away up the hood. His thrusts only became more vigorous as he want on, as he was growing increasingly more frustrated.<br><br>Jeremiah was not poorly endowed, but that woman's sex had apparently been used so many times already that it granted him little pleasure, being to large to properly accommodate him. In his frustration, he found himself leaning further over her, until he was almost lying on top of her. His hand migrated from her hips up to her shoulder, pulling her whole body down the hood and under him. He felt a new burst of arousal at the feel of her body against his, even through is clothing. Almost lovingly, he began to run his hands along her arms, carefully taking in the contours of her well muscled limbs.<br><br>His fingers ran down to the bend of her elbows, before going up her forearms and finally reaching the raw and abrased skin of her wrists, and the wood of the yoke that held them. He slipped his hand over the bulky restrain and began to gently grip at her hands. For a moment he began to forget who it was he was so intimately pressed against, and his fingers began to lovingly caress her palms and fingers.<br><br>Suddenly though, an awful thought entered his head. These were the same hands that had murdered Elaine, the same hands that had stolen from him the love of his life. It was an odd thought; while her hands were by no means dainty, Jeremiah could only think how delicate the woman's fingers felt under his, how brittle they seemed.<br><br>It was with that thought that he finally realised what he was meant to do. He wasn't here to kill her, but to see to it that those hands never claimed another life. Rising up a bit off her back, he let go of her left hand, and took hold with both hands of her right. he curled her fingers down, leaving up only her pinky, which he braced his thumb behind, at the top joint. In a sudden motion, his other hand took hold of her finger tip and wrenched it back. There was an audible snap as the digit broke at its top joint. Without pause, Jeremiah moved down to the next joint, breaking it in the same way. Finally, his thumb moved to the base of the finger, and that to was wrenched backwards, snapping hideously.<br><br>He continued on from there, moving to each finger in turn. He did the same thing each time, snapping the digit at each joint, starting from the top and proceeding down to the knuckle. Kriss's main fingers offered marginally more resistance then her pinky, but certainly not enough. It wasn't long until he had his made his way along to her thumb.<br><br>It was with the first break in her thumb that he reached climax. He cried out in ecstasy as several month worth of cum was shot into Kriss's ruined vagina. As he withdrew from inside her, he made the final break to her right hand, snapping the thumb at its base. Breathing heavily, he walked round to the side of the car hood, where he took a seat next to her head. He looked down at her mangled hand, almost feeling piety for her, if only for a moment. Even with immediate attention, she would probably have never been able to use that hand again, and it was unlikely she would be receiving any medical aid soon.<br><br>Her left hand was still fine though, clenched inside its bindings. Jeremiah stared across the bonnet at it, holding onto Kriss's yoke as he did, not letting her slide down. He was still catching his breath, but he wasn't close to finished yet. He wouldn't allow the woman to ever wield a weapon again, in either hand.<br><br>As he sat recovering, he looked down at the woman's face and said, almost kindly, "someday, God willingly you survive, you'll be thankful for this."&nbsp; <br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>13-04-2012, 13:19:40</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Kriss felt her foot connect with her attacker and heard his moans of pain. She smiled wearily. She had reached her target. Now, she had to finish him before he could recover from the pain. But once again, the weight of the yoke came in her way. She tried to lift her torso from the car but she was too tired for that. The muscles of her back were clenching hard as she tried to arch her spine backwards, sweat oozed from her pores, but the heavy wooden spar hardly budged. Using her left padded elbow as a support, she managed to raise the right end of the yoke by a few inches.<br><br>But then she heard sounds behind her. The man had recovered much faster than expected. Probably because she had failed to completely crush his balls. A moment later, a powerful slash across her back sent her down on the rusty bonnet. Her full breasts were crushed under her torso and she moaned from the violent pain. And then a rain of blows followed, each one cutting into the skin of her back, the buckle of the belt causing deeper wounds in her flesh.<br><br>At first she tried to raise her torso again, or to kick her legs at her torturer. But each blow made her crash back on the car. And each kick met only air and caused her leg to be severely whipped as well. Her struggles became weaker and stopped altogether. The rain of belt lashes continued for some time, extracting screams of agony from her coarse, parched throat. Her exhausted body was hardly twitching, even though the pain was so hard. When the blows began to weaken, her back had been reduced to a bloody pulp.<br><br>At last, the brutal whipping stopped. Kriss barely reacted. She was moaning softly, her back burning with agony, too dazzled to move. She felt her ankles being wrapped with the leather belt and then secured to the car and then her yoke was dragged back to the top of the bonnet, until her head was again next to the windshield. She could not see what happened behind her.<br><br>The rape began soon after. At this point, Kriss' vagina had been so much abused and stretched that she barely felt the man cock inside her. What she did feel though was the grinding of his crotch against her wounded vulva, which caused her to yelp pitifully with each new hump. She was too groggy to react though, and she would not have been able to resist anyway. Progressively, the rape became less brutal, and even evolved into something almost sensual. She could feel his hot breath against her. Her raw vagina and sore back prevented her from feeling any pleasure though, as the man's clothes brushed against the fresh whip wounds.<br><br>His fingers gently explored her locked arms, then her hands, and suddenly, she felt him freeze against her. This man was really unpredictable. A moment later, he grabbed the small finger of her right hand and began to bend its last joint backward. Harder and harder. The pain grew to an unbearable point and Kriss screamed.<br><br><strong>"What are you doing? NoooooAAAAAAYYYEEEEE!!!"</strong><br><br>The man had broken the joint with a sickening cracking sound and a surge of pain that invaded her whole hand and shot up her arm. The man was already applying the same pressure to the next joint.<br><br><strong>"Nooooooo! Don't break my finger!!!!"</strong> she cried again, to no avail.<br><br>The same snapping sound and the throbbing agony exploded again. Kriss tried to shake her hand, to free it from the man's hold but although it was slippery with sweat, the man had a firm grip on it. Moreover, the yoke prevented her from really pulling it out of reach.<br><br>Finger by finger, joint by joint, he broke her articulations, reducing her hand to useless appendix. She could see her hand, protruding from its yoke hole. Her fingers were twitching and contorting uncontrollably. They were twisted and bent in strange angles, totally disjointed. An extreme agony was throbbing in her whole hand. Every move was aggravating the pain. With horror, Kriss realised her right hand, her good hand, would never be able to grab or manipulate anything.<br><br>Her face was covered in tears. She was crying in utter agony and despair. The man was not moving. From the corner of her eyes, she saw his eyes staring at her left hand. Immediately she clenched it into a tight fist. She would not allow him to break it. He had got her by surprise with her right hand, but now she was ready.<br><br><strong>"Please... Why are you doing this to me? Please, don't hurt me anymore. I promise I'll leave and you'll never hear of me again. But don't hurt me anymore."</strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Notadrywall</strong> on <strong>14-04-2012, 12:51:14</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Jeremiah turned his head, his eyes leaving her left hand, to look the Grey Bitch in the eyes as she pleaded with him. Tears were streaming down her grime covered face, who's features held a look of utter despair and defeat. With his lust momentarily sated - though beginning to grow again - Jeremiah felt a twinge of sympathy for the woman; for a moment he couldn't quite reconcile the evil creature that he knew her to be with the frightened girl he saw before him. He reached out a hand, rubbing it gently on her bruised scalp, as if to caress the hair she no longer had. But his pity was already turning to anger as he did; the Grey Bitch had shown no mercy to her many victims, shown no remorse for her crimes. How dare she now expect - and worse, receive - sympathy from him? Feeling his cock again swelling in his pants, Jeremiah knew he would not let his own weakness allow her punishment to go unfinished.<br><br>"You will not escape your judgement, bitch" he growled, rising from the car hood, and again walking behind the helpless woman, "and a better person then you would be than you would be thankful for it." <br><br>He again took up position behind Kriss, he cock standing erect. This time he was not interested in her half-destroyed pussy, instead placing the head of his cock against her anus. While it do was stretched and torn by her previous abuse, he hoped that it would still prove tight enough to provide a man some pleasure. He wasn't gentle as he pushed himself inside her tender ass-hole, forcing his cock deep into her. He found her anus still tight enough to provide some traction, and he began thrusting in and out roughly. Having so recently climaxed, his strokes were hard and fast as he attempted maintain his arousal.<br><br>Of course, Jeremiah was not there simply to pleasure himself, and he hadn't forgotten his duty. Again lying down on top of her, he reached up to take hold of Kriss's still intact left hand. It was tightly balled into a fist; she was squeezing with all the strength her desperation could muster to keep him from getting a grip on her digits. With all his own strength, Jeremiah began trying to pry loose her pinky. In frustration at her resistance, he slapped her several time across her he wounded back.<br><br>For a while strained against each other in stalemate, still fucking as they did, but Kriss never really had any chance. Jeremiah, already immensely strong, had the use of both of his hands against her lone finger. Slowly, but surely, he unfolded the first digit, until it stuck out straight, held firmly in his grasp. Just as he had done before, Jeremiah pressed his thump behind her joint, and bent the tip of the finger back until the bone gave way with an agonising crack. The other two joint followed quickly; splintering like twigs in her grip.<br><br>Now he moved to her ring finger. This one was easy to unfold, despite her efforts. He made the three breaks with now practices ease. He was timing the breaks with his own thrusts now, forcing himself deep into her to meet her as her whole body jumped in response to the sudden burst of pain. Kriss's next to fingers offered little more resistance, and they too were quickly reduced to nothing more then mangled protrusion. In his excitement, Jeremiah had little trouble even with her thumb; cracking both its joints it quick succession.<br><br>All of Kriss's fingers were now destroyed, but Jeremiah was not yet finished having his way with her. He continued to thrust in to her roughly, his strokes growing fiercer in his frustration, as climax continued to allude him. His hands again reached up to grab a hold of hers, and he began to squeeze at her fingers, the agonised cries the invoked from her spurring on his arousal.<br><br>This went on for some time, as Jeremiah slowly coaxed himself to finishing. After many torturous minutes (and squeezes), he let out a roar; cumming deep into her ass. He staggered backwards, his head for a moment clear of thoughts. After a few seconds, once he had recovered, he circled back around to the side of the car hood, and looked down at the prone form of the Grey Bitch.<br><br>She looked truly pitiable now. On top of all her other injuries, her hands were now totally ruined; their fingers mangled and bent to bizarre angles. Never again would they ever serve her in any useful manner. For the rest of her days, her hands would be vestigial lumps. As this fact sunk into Jeremiah, a calmness came over him. For the first time in many months, he felt that things were right with the world. His burning anger at the woman faded, though didn't die entirely. She would never be able to undo what she'd done to him, but now at least she had gone some ways in amending for her crimes.<br><br>Still breathing heavily, Jeremiah reached down and untied Kriss's legs. He then hauled her off of the rusty care hood and laid her on the ground, lying on her back. Soon he would send her on her way. But he didn't want to send her off alone into the wasteland to face the rest of her trials without making on charitable gesture. Standing over her, and keeping clear of her legs, he reached into his pocket.&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>01-05-2012, 16:54:55</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Kriss fought with all her might to keep her left fist closed. She was digging her nails into her palm. Her knuckles were white from pressure. The man's fingers were trying to get a hold on her sweaty, slippery skin. And all the time, her sore rectum was rammed without the least remorse.<br><br>Progressively, Jeremiah managed to push one finger inside the tight hole formed by her desperately curled pinky. Once it was in, unfolding the little finger was only a matter of time and soon it was straight, slightly arched backwards, unable even to twitch. Kriss let out a long scream of despair as the pain spread down her hand. She knew what was to come and it was enough to cause her to panic. The methodical, regular process of breaking her knuckles backwards caused her to jerk her body and yelp with white agony. With each break, her anus was involuntarily clenching on her rapist's cock. And each break brought her closer to helplessness. Soon she would be a total wreck, completely useless.<br><br>At last, the man exploded in her bowels, filling her with his hot jism, adding humiliation to her agony. Both her hands had been reduced to useless paws, distorted roots throbbing with pain. As he released her legs and pulled her backwards, she glided along the rusty hood, her breasts clawed by the irregular piece of metal.<br><br>She fell on her back, breathless, her disfigured face covered with tears and contorted with a mix of pain and terror. Her legs were moving erratically, the back wheels of her roller skates rolling on the floor, unable to find a purchase. She was covered in cold sweat, to which countless particles of rust were adhering.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Notadrywall</strong> on <strong>02-05-2012, 15:42:29</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The Grey Bitch squirmed on the ground where Jeremiah had dropped her, clearly still in significant pain, cum leaking from her ass and pussy. Jeremiah knelt down next to, laying his hand on her yoke to stop her moving. <br><br>"Save your strength; you still have a long road, and many trials, ahead of you." Jeremiah told her solemnly, glaring into her tear filled eyes, "you will die before you reach the end, if you try to go alone. But if you are faithful, and more importantly; repentant, then I know He will deliver you home." He reached into his pocket and pulled from it a small, silver crucifix, hanging from a thin chain. <br><br>"This is all I have left of the woman you murdered. She always wore it, till the day she died." Jeremiah paused for a second to compose himself, "and now I think you should have it, as a reminder; both of what you've done, and that you can be forgiven - though not by me." He lent forward, over Kriss's face, and reaching around the sides of her neck, chain in hand, to attach the necklace. <br><br>At the last second though, before he could do up the clasp, Jeremiah stopped. A sudden doubt had come over him; on the one hand, it felt right that she should have Elaine's necklace, now that she had been punished for her crime, but part of him couldn't stomach the idea of giving it to her. Punished or no, the bitch had still murdered his wife, and Jeremiah hated the idea of her taking all that was left of Elaine and continuing to live her indecent life. And where would that leave him? With nothing but memory, nothing to prove that this judgement had even taken place, and not been just another fantasy. If Jeremiah was to give her the thing he cherished most, she would have to repay him somehow.<br><br>He pondered for a while, his arms still around her neck. What could she give him? What did a whore cherish most? <br><br>And then he had a thought. It was a cruel thought, but none could argue that the Grey Bitch had not earned cruelty. She had had much taken from her, but as Jeremiah saw it, she still had that which an amoral slut like her would value. Without a word, Jeremiah withdrew the necklace. He stood up, then sat back down again, this time one Kriss's stomach so that he was straddling her, and pinning her to the ground. The way he sat now, her face was behind him, but that was of little interest. <br><br>Carefully, Jeremiah began probing Kriss's mutilated sex with his hefty fingers. Pulling open the shredded lips, it didn't take him long to find what he was looking for; the little nub of flesh. With his free hand, he reached to his pockets, he kept an array of tools and other odds and ends with him, and now he pulled out a pair of pliers. Still holding her open with one hand, Jeremiah reached down and took hold of Kriss's clit with the pliers, squeezing down so that the tip bulged grotesquely. He proceeded to pull on it, stretching it tort. Now, his non-plier hand reached for the combat knife he kept at his hip.<br><br>With steady hands, he began sawing with the serrated blade. The hardy knife made short work of her tender skin, and soon enough, Jeremiah had cut right through the base of Kriss's clit, leaving it a bloody lump clasped in his pliers.<br><br>Ignoring The Grey Bitches protests, Jeremiah remained seated on top of her. He sheathed his knife, after wiping the blood off on her thigh, and again drew out the silver crucifix. For a while, he sat comparing the objects in his hands. They were quite a contrast, the clean silver cross in one, and mangled lump of tissue in the other; soaked in blood and ejaculate. This struck Jeremiah as a significant kindness to the Grey Bitch, though he knew it would be a long time until the realised it.<br><br>Pocketing the pliers - and the severed clit they clasped - Jeremiah carefully removed the crucifix from the necklace, leaving only a single ringlet at the top. He then rummaged around in his pocket until he found what he needed; a word old safety pin. He threaded it through the ringlet, and again leaned down to probe Kriss's bleeding pussy. He quickly exposed the raw tissue where her clit had once been, and it was here that he drove in the pin, pushing it in deep before hooking it back around and working the tip out of her flesh. With a happy sigh, he closed the safety pin.<br><br>Jeremiah now stood up again and looked down at his work. The Grey Bitch would never take a life with her hands again, and a more tasteful symbol now hung where her clit used to be. Jeremiah felt sure now that his job was done. He reached down and took hold of the yoke, and with some effort, he hauled it up, pulling Kriss to her feet. He held her up until she found her balance, then released her, pointing her in the direction of Battery Park. After that, he returned to his home, taking his souvenir with him.<br><br>For the rest of his days, he would where the severed clitoris proudly on a chain around his neck. It quickly became common knowledge who it had belonged to, and he received plenty of congratulations, though it didn't help his reputation as somewhat unbalanced.<br>&nbsp; &nbsp;
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>04-05-2012, 13:45:36</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Kriss was still in the throes of agony throbbing in her destroyed fingers when the man sat on her and began to pass a collar around her neck. She could smell his bad breath on her. She was wondering what he was going to do when he suddenly changed his mind and sat on her stomach, turning his back to her. He was hiding her what he was doing but when he began to rummage into the folds of her sex, she immediately clenched her thighs together. This did not prevent him from reaching the cache where her clitoris was trying to hide and suddenly she felt the bite of some steel jaws.<br><br>She howled from the intense agony and tried to lift her hips and eject the crazy man from her body. Again this proved vain. The pressure of the grip increased ten folds, squashing her clitoris, causing an incredible amount of pain. The destroyed woman screamed to the top of her lungs, begging the man to stop hurting her, her voice echoing among the buildings.<br><br>When she saw him unsheathing his knife, she became even more frantic. She even managed to lift her heavy yoke by a couple of inches above the ground before gravity won again. As the serrated blade began its work, severing the frail bead of squeezed and throbbing flesh from her crotch, her face was contorted in a mask of utter agony, her eyes were bulging out, the muscles of her whole body were clenched and bulging like knotted ropes.<br><br>And suddenly she fell limp. The agony had been too much for her mind.<br><br>She came back to her senses some time later. The man was kneeling over her and was slapping her face. An acute pain was pulsating in her crotch. Prevented by the yoke from looking down, she could not see the little cross pinned to the wound that had been her clitoris.<br><br>When the man helped her on her wobbling legs, she barely managed to keep standing. The roller skates were making the task even more difficult. The Grey Bitch had to summon the last bits of energy to stop her legs from shaking and keep on her feet. As she began to move forward, cautiously, she felt something dangling between her thighs.<br><br>Unknown to her, as she progressed along the fifth avenue, droplets of blood were dripping from her crotch. As soon as her latest tormentor had disappeared from her sight, she headed towards an old truck that was turned on its side. Its back had been stripped from any content a long time ago. She entered it and went all the way to its back and left herself fall on her butt. She rested the yoke and her head against the wall and tried to recover some strength. She was eager to continue her progression and enter Battery Fort's territory but she knew she needed some rest. Bracing herself as well as she could so that she would not slip during her sleep, she closed her eyes and immediately fell asleep.<br><br>The heat inside the truck was very high as it was in plain sun and soon she was covered with sweat. But she was counting on this very fact to turn peoples away. Everybody knew that the truck was empty and nobody would come here in the middle of the day. Or so she was hoping...
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>29-05-2012, 17:03:45</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Kriss woke in a start as she felt someone touching her. How much time had passed she had no idea, but at least she felt a little less tired, even if the pain in her multiples wounds seemed harder. It took her some time to remember her situation as she was manhandled wordlessly by some unknown person. As she was laying on her belly, she could not even look behind her at whom she was dealing with.<br><br>Her soiled clothes were peeled from her sweaty body with something that looked like care and gentleness, even if every move tended to cause pain in some part of her abused body. At last she was offered a shirt to cover her nakedness and the man helped her out of the truck and led her to an old warehouse.<br><br>Questions were burning her lips but she preferred not to speak. Since she had been abandoned in the streets she had met a more than her share of peoples who looked like they wanted to help her, only to torture her when they realised who she was. Now her appearance had been changed quite a lot so that was not easily recognised, except for her "war name" tattooed across her forehead. Maybe, if she did not speak, that man would not understand who she really was.<br><br>Strangely, the man did not address her until he had her washed clean. Kriss felt thankful for that, as it made her feel better. And she was also glad that he was offering her his protection until she would be fit to go on with her trip. But as he asked for her name, she was reluctant to tell him, fearing his reaction.<br><br><strong>"My name is Leila. I belonged to the Patricks but they raped me and abandoned me... I am now looking for protection... I thought that maybe the Batterists could help me..."</strong><br><br>With that, she nodded her agreement to tend to her sore pussy.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>08-06-2012, 12:42:25</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Kriss Felt better from having rested for some time. When she woke up, she was still alone, lying on the bed naked. Michael had left some clothes for her, but with her arms locked in the yoke, there was no way she could put them on. Anyway, her situation felt less hopeless now. Michael had promised to lead her to the Batterists once she felt better and she was eager to see him again so that they could depart. She would never feel really safe until she was back inside the protective walls of the fort.<br><br>She heard the sound of Michael returning and she tried to sit up to welcome him, but the weight of the yoke kept her on her back. And then she saw someone else entering the room. Immediately she crossed her thighs and curled her legs up in a derisory protective move. That man looked different and she could in the way his eyes were looking at her naked body that he was not of the same kind than his friend.<br><br>Thus, she was hardly surprised when he alluded to payment and brought out his cock. She let her head rest back on the bed, looking away. She even spread her thighs wide. She knew there was no point in struggling. She was helpless anyway. She was only hoping it would be short and gentle.<br><br><strong>"Take what you need, but please do it gently"</strong>, she simply said, not even looking at Samuel.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>11-06-2012, 15:29:21</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				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.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>23-07-2012, 09:25:07</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Kriss remained prone on the ground, coughing, desperately trying to recover her breath. Her breasts were like in fire, even if the armor of badges pinned on their skin was offering some kind of modesty.<br><br>After much struggling, she managed to get back on her feet. She felt drained of energy, pain was wracking her, but now she reckoned that she was much closer to the Battery territory. Her chances to meet someone from her clan were higher. Only a couple tough raiders dared to enter Saint-Patrick land but where she was now was more of a free zone, scouted and scavenged by both parties. Hope was what made move her aching legs again and hobble toward the south.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Notadrywall</strong> on <strong>24-07-2012, 16:58:20</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Now in neutral territory, it wasn't long before Kriss was spotted by a pair of familiar eyes. The Battery scout didn't do anything at first, instead he remained concealed within the abandoned buildings while he cautiously tracked his former comrade. Indeed, it took a while for him to work out who the battered woman was, given her state. Had it been someone else, he may not have recognised her at all. But Aaron knew Kriss far to well. Every Battery scout who Kriss was; she was one of the best, after all; fast, cunning and intelligent. She got the job done without ever being caught.<br><br>Until now, of course. <br><br>Aaron couldn't help but grin a little as he watched the once proud woman stumble pathetically down the road, her body half ruined. Not much by way of empathy entered his mind; he had spent to much time out in the ruins and seen to much horror already, as far as he was concerned, this was just how things went. He did feel a healthy dose of schadenfreude though. Competing with Kriss for years had led to Aaron building up a lot of bitterness towards her; he couldn't count the times she'd beaten him to a newly discovered stash, or succeeding in feats he wouldn't have dared himself. How could he not feel just a little bit of amusement at seeing the arrogant bitch brought low like this?<br><br>After watching for a little while, to make sure it wasn't a trap (and to enjoy the spectacle), Aaron finally approached Kriss. With practised stealth, he came up behind her, before giving her a friendly slap on her whip welted back. "Hello, Kris!" He grinned, "looks like you've been hanging with the Patricks, that's not like you." He chuckled, "come one, let's go see what we can do for you." Without waiting for an answer, he took a firm hold of her yoke and began to lead her, walking briskly.<br><br>He travelled with her for a block before taking her down a side-street. There, he took a small door into one of the adjacent buildings. He led her for a little way through the run down hallways, before taking her down a set of stairs that led into the small basement that served as his hideout. It was a cosy little dwelling; a small fire was already burning in the centre of the room, positioned under a ventilation shaft to act as a chimney. Stockpiles of food and other equipment were stacked against the walls, and several mattresses lay on the floor.<br><br>Aaron half helped and half forced Kriss over to the fire, sitting her down next to it. He dragged a box up behind her for her to lean against, before taking a seat across from her. "I must say, I wasn't expecting to see you again." He said, reclining back, "you're a lucky girl; the Patricks don't usually let you go if you're dumb enough to get caught." Aaron shook his head, smiling, "still, I'm guessing they didn't let you go without a little bit of punishment." Suddenly, he leaned forwards again, looking intently at her, "I'm curious, I gotta say; what did they do with you dumb ass? Tell me, how many lucky fella's have got to use that pretty cunt of yours?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>25-07-2012, 02:48:59</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Kriss was stumbling her way down the street. She had barely enough strength to carry the yoke. It was grinding against her shoulders, around her neck and wrists. Her raw flesh was torturing her with each step. There was not a spot on her body that was not in acute pain.<br><br>Lost in her suffering, she did not hear the man coming and as he slapped her back, she jolted and screamed, more from surprise than from pain. Slowly, she spun on her knees in a ridiculously clumsy attempt at hitting her attacked. Aaron easily stopped the blow and lifted the yoke somewhat alleviating Kriss' burden.<br><br>When she recognised Aaron, Kriss' eyes opened wide in surprise and a pale smile brightened her dreary face. She tried to speak but her slit tongue and its rusty badge made her words totally useless. Moreover as the two sides of her organ tried to move, it caused renewed pain in her mouth.<br><br>She was so glad to see friendly face, someone she could trust at last. It meant the end of her plight. Soon she would be cared for in the Fort. After so many hardships, so many tortures, her willpower abandoned her. She had someone to take care of her now, she had survived against all odds! Her legs no longer supported her and she would have collapsed if Aaron had not helped her with the heavy yoke. She followed his lead, on the verge of unconsciousness as he carried her yoke, half supporting her in the process.<br><br>They went down what looked like one of those hideouts raiders used when too far to come back to the Fort. She sat down on the filthy mattress and rested her back against a crate. The warmth of the fire felt so good. Being safe felt so good, even though her body was nearly destroyed and suffering like hell. She was constantly smiling at Aaron. She had given up talking but she was drooling abundantly on her dirty T-shirt, which was strangely deformed by the countless badges pinned into her formerly proud breasts.<br><br>But then she noticed something she did not like in Aaron voice and face. It was almost as if he was glad to see her suffering like that. And then came his questions, his useless questions about her rapes. And she could not even answer him.<br><br>She shook her head tiredly, emitting stupid noises with her aching mouth. She pulled on her arms and wiggled her hands, trying to make Aaron understand there were more urgent matters.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Notadrywall</strong> on <strong>25-07-2012, 17:11:40</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Aaron couldn't help but burst out laughing. The last time he had seen Kriss, she had been fit young woman who carried herself with the all confidence one would expect from someone as arrogant as her. Now, she was about as pathetic as he could imagine; a physical wreck, all she did was grin moronically at him while dribbling onto her shirt, like a stray dog that thought it was going to get a treat. It was a beautiful contrast, Aaron thought to himself, it was nice to see her brought down a peg or too.<br><br>Still chuckling, he climbed to his feat, and slowly walked around the fire to stand next to Kriss. He looked down at her warmly, enjoying her incoherent mumbling and wiggling. Without warning, his foot shot out, kicking the box she was leaning against away. The sudden loss of support and the weight of the yoke caused Kriss to fall backwards onto the ground. Aaron looked down at her for a moment, before walking over her, making sure to step on her stomach as he did. once on the other side, he looked down at her again. He hadn't missed how much she had been enjoying the warmth of the fire, and he made a snap decision to let her enjoy it a little more.<br><br>Leaning down, he roughly pulled the shoes from her feat, grunting in amusement as he caught sight of her foot brand. Next, he wrapped his arms around her legs, and dragged her prone body closer to the fire. He only stopped when the souls of her feat were all but in the flames, at which point he knelt down on her legs to stop her moving them. <br><br>Now, Aaron got to the part he was most interested in. Eagerly, he began tugging at Kriss's jeans; pulling them down until her crotch was once again exposed. He whistled in surprise at just how mangled her cunt was; bruised, cut, scraped and torn; it wasn't a pretty sight. With a total lack of any gentleness, Aaron drove his fingers between her slitted folds, and began probing her depths. He was amused by how little resistance she offered; clearly he wasn't the first. On the way in, one of his fingers hooked the crucifix, and it almost tore off before he realised it was attached to her. With renewed interest, he found the safety pin anchor point, and twiddled it casually, he only stopped when he felt a sudden prick on his finger, and he withdrew his hand to find a piece of glass lodged in it.<br><br>Laughing, Aaron moved onto Kriss's breasts. He ripped open her shirt to expose them, and was pleased to find them less battered then her pussy. Kriss's endowments had caught his eye in the past, and he was happy to finally gets is hands on them. He roughly groped the fleshy mounds, fondling and twisting the pinned badges; tweaking her makeshift nipples.<br><br>Finally, he moved up to rest his arms on her yoke and look her in the eyes. He was practically lying on top of her now; his legs wrapped around hers to keep her feet near the fire. "The Pats really did a number on you, that's for sure," he grinned, "a shame really; I was kind of hoping I'd get the customary reward for rescuing a pretty damsel in distress, if you know what I mean, but now I frankly don't feel safe putting my dick near you." <br><br>He considered for a second, before going on, "I'll tell you what, how about you tell me what's been done to you; give me an idea what I'd be in for if I fucked you. Please be thorough, though you might want to be quick too, I imagine your feet might start to get a bit hot." This was a massive understatement. "After that, I might fuck your throat a bit, then we can have some dinner and decide how you can repay me. Then, in the morning, I'll take you home. How's that sound?' He beamed down at her for a minute, before remembering, "oh right," he muttered, before reaching into her mouth and tearing out the badge on her tongue. He hoped that that would let her be a bit more talkative. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>26-07-2012, 12:32:14</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Kriss was still smiling as Aaron approached her and the kick took her by surprise. The yoke, suddenly unsupported, pulled her down and crashed on the concrete floor with a loud noise, which seemed to echo in her skull as it too banged against the floor. Dazzled by the blow, her upper body against the floor while her butt and legs were still on the mattress, she looked up at the man, an incredulous look on her face. She could not believe what he had just done and it definitely could not be an accident.<br><br>She tried to sit up but the yoke was anchoring her head down and it always took her a lot of efforts to straighten up. As the man stepped on her belly, her weakened abs were not even able to resist the pressure and she gasped in pain. She moaned and tried to protest, her slit and pinned tongue producing incoherent sounds along with a lot of saliva.<br><br>As the man grabbed her legs, she tried to kick him. Her kicks used to be deadly. She had killed a man more than once in just once well-placed kick. But those times were gone. Her tired and cramped legs could not resist the man's strength. Her shoes were removed and she was dragged on the floor until she felt the heat of the flames almost directing against her raw soles. Again she tried to kick, to jerk her legs, to twist her hips but as the man was sitting on them, it was to no avail. Her meaningless pleas got more frantic, louder and more desperate. She wiggled her feet, curled and uncurled her toes, desperately trying to move them away from the heat.<br><br><strong>"Ooonggg! Ooonnnggg!"</strong> she moaned, her face grimacing in pain and incredulity. She could not understand why Aaron was doing this to her.<br><br>Then began the usual assault. Her clothes were torn from her body, revealing her tortured nakedness. The spectacle was no longer as rejoicing as it used to be but still her athletic features and womanly curves had some appeal. As the man mauled and kneaded her badge-covered breasts, she cried loudly , shaking her head fiercely while trying to call for Aaron's pity.<br><br>And all the time the heat was building up against her exposed soles. At first, by wiggling them in all directions she had been able to present a different part of them to the flames but now the pain was getting very hard to bear. She jerking her legs forcefully and Aaron had more difficulty to keep them in place.<br><br>By now Aaron's face was but inches from her own and she could smell his foul breath. She tried to make sense of his threatening words. Once again, someone was trying to bargain his help against some sexual services. She was sort of used to it by now. And at least, with Aaron, there was a good chance he would really help her. And after what she had been through, giving a blow-job to him would hardly count.<br><br>She yelped as he ripped the badge from her tongue. And then she began to explain all she had been through since her capture. The two part of her tongue were moving in different directions, causing her speech to sound very alien and sometimes difficult to understand. She was drooling a lot, covering her chin and cheeks with her saliva. But at least she was able to talk.<br><br>The heat against her soles was unbearable by now. Her words were interrupted with exclamations of agony. She was sure that blisters must have begun to form.<br><br><strong>"Oh, please! Stop that! My feet!!! Aaaagh!!!! Ooooow! The Pats, they caught me and branded me. They raped me too. As every thug I have met on my way to here. AOoooooow!!!! Stop that fire!!!! Pleaaase! I promise I'll give you a blow-job. Aaaaaoooow!!! They shoved glass fibre up my pussy, so better not go there. AOooow!!! Please, I'll suck your cock but stop burning my feeeeeet! I beg you!!!!"</strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Notadrywall</strong> on <strong>01-08-2012, 16:17:52</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Aaron was enjoying himself immensely. He'd always wanted to have a bit of a wrestle with Kriss, it was nice to finally get the chance, even if the circumstance left it a bit one sided. He had to hand it to her though, Kriss was putting up a decent fight; bucking and thrashing desperately under his weight. The fire on her feet must have been a good motivator. Still, it wasn't enough for her to get free; he had her top half pinned down by the yoke, and his legs were tightly wrapped around hers, holding them in the fire. The heat on his own legs was more then uncomfortable, but it also gave him a gleeful reminder of how much pain Kriss must have been in.<br><br>He kept his face close to hers, grinning wickedly as she started begging. Kriss had always been an arrogant bitch, and Aaron liked hearing her pleading. "Ha, it's a shame the other scouts couldn't be here," He chuckled, "to hear you begging to suck my cock. I think they'd like seeing you act like the slut we all knew you were. Tell me, where you this pathetic to all the other thugs who've fucked you so far?" Aaron talked slowly, in no hurry to let Kriss go. Having her naked body pinned under him, while she moaned and cried in agony, was too enjoyable.<br><br>Finally, though, after several long minutes, Aaron did release his hold, not wanting to do any permanent damage to her feet. He brushed himself off as he rose to his feet, before again stepping on Kriss's belly as he walked over her. Then, he reached down and dragged her by the yoke over to the crate she'd been leaning against. He again propped her up against it, in a sitting position.<br><br>Undoing his belt, Aaron looked down at his battered comrade. "Let's see if that forked tongue of yours is good for anything," he leered, as he produced his erect cock and thrust it towards her face, "and don't even think about bighting or throwing up; or it will be more then you're feet in the fire."<br><br>Without waiting for a reply, he suddenly grabbed hold of Kriss's bare scalped head and pulled it forwards, forcing his swollen cock between her lips. He drove in deep, until the head of his member was down her throat. He could feel her gag reflex fighting futility against him, massaging his dick.<br><br>&nbsp;
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>02-08-2012, 11:02:34</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				As her feet slowly roast alive, Kriss kept bucking and twisting her body, trying to escape Aaron's clutch. Blisters began to appear on her soles, bursting one after another as the pus began to boil. Wiggling her feet and toes did not bring any protection now. The yoke was hardly leaving the floor in spite of her frantic efforts, and the rest of her body was pinned by Aaron's weight. And the more her soles roasted, the more pitiful her moans and begging were.<br><br><strong>"Pleaaase! Stoooop! I beg youuuuu! I'll be goooood! You don't need to do thaaaaat!"</strong><br><br>At last the man stood up and she hastily pulled her feet away from the flames. Her soles were covered with purulent blisters and hurting like hell. She had no idea how she could stand on them now. Again the man stepped on her belly, partly winding her, and as she was trying to recover her breath, he sat her against the crate. She looked at him with a mix of anger and fear. A big part of her wanted to make him pay for what he had done but she also knew that she was helpless and that in her situation he represented her best, even her only, chance of survival.<br><br>She wrinkled her nose as Aaron's revealed his erect cock, dripping with precum, smelly nasty. But as he got closer and darted his manhood at her face, she did nothing. She even parted her lips slightly. She sighed realising how her recent hardships had changed her behaviour.<br><br><strong>"Please, be gentle, I promise aaaaooomwwwfffffff..."</strong> she began, just as he shoved his dick deep into her mouth.<br><br>The thick cock parted her lips, her jaws, moved deeper and deeper, until it banged against the back of her throat. Kriss' eyes shot wide open as she gagged and moaned in protest. Her head banged against the crate. She tried to breathe but could not. The thick penis head was blocking her air supply and causing her to gag violently. Her throat and mouth immediately produced an incredible amount of mucus to get rid of the intruder. But of course, it had no intention to go away. She tried to shake her head free but Aaron's was holding it firmly with his hands. She kicked her feet helplessly, only succeeding in grinding her blister-covered heels on the concrete floor. Her nostrils were flaring, she was gagging and retching, her face was turning a bright red. Her fists were clenched tight and she was banging the yoke into the crate in her efforts to free herself. Her nose was lost into Aaron's publes while his sweaty testicles were resting against her chin.<br><br><em>Oh my God!</em> she thought. <em>He wants to choke me to death with his cock!</em>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Notadrywall</strong> on <strong>07-08-2012, 16:38:16</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"Stop squirming!" Aaron growled at the struggling bitch. He roughly banged her head against the crate she was propped up to. He kept both hands wrapped around her head, anchoring the entirety of his cock into her mouth and throat. It was a shame, he thought, that she had lost her hair; it would have made it easier to keep her in place. Not that she really stood much chance of resisting anyway.<br><br>The feel of her throat muscles desperately spasming, trying to remove the intrusion, was causing him greet arousal. For a moment he did consider holding himself there until she suffocated, wandering what it would feel like, and whether the dumb girl would think to bight down before she snuffed it. Fortunately for Kriss, though, Aaron wasn't quite that reckless. Instead he began to roughly fuck her throat and the back of her mouth. Every know and then he let his member slip out just far enough for her to snatch a quick breath.<br><br>The partial suffocation had the benefit of quickly quelling Kriss's struggling. It wasn't long before Aaron only needed one hand to hold her head in place, allowing his other to roam across her battered body. He began groping at her breasts again; twiddling and pulling at the badges, as well as her skin. Once he got bored with that, his fingerer moved to grip hers, as he suddenly got the urge to examine her comically twisted digits. They were quite interesting know; bent into all manner of strange position, Aaron enjoyed twisting and fiddling with them; finding all the new ways they could know move. He twisted several of them three sixty degrees, noting the feel of her splintered bones grinding together.<br><br>After many long minutes, Aaron finally reached climax; driving himself deep into Kriss's throat and shooting a thick load of warm cum down her throat. Once done, he withdrew, pushing her over as he did. He walked away from her, and over to one of the other boxes, which he began rummaging through. "You're not a bad cock sucker, Kriss." He said causally, "good thing too; it's a good skill to have know you aren't a scout any more."<br><br>He walked back over, carrying with him a couple of cans, some bowls and a pot. "Time for dinner, I'd say." Once back at the fire, he opened one of the cans, and poured its contents - baked beans - into the pot, which he placed in the fire. It didn't take long before the food was cooked, and he spooned it into one of the bowls. After that, he opened another can, this one containing cat food, and poured it into the other bowl, which he put down in front of Kriss.<br><br>"Eat." He said firmly, as he picked up his own bowl, the look in his eyes suggested he wouldn't tolerate ungratefulness here "I have an idea about how you can repay me, so eat quickly."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>08-08-2012, 14:58:29</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Aaron was not paying attention to Kriss suffering. He seemed lost in his egotistical pleasure. With her head repeatedly banged against the crate, with her air supply cut by the man's cock, it was not long before the defeated scout was pushed on the verge of fainting. Her panicked mind was entirely focused on the need to cough and breathe. Every now and then, the thick cock would retreat just far enough to allow her expelling a new gobble of mucus and saliva and taking a short breath. Her lungs were kept in constant lack of air, they were burning. Her throat was clenching around the hard cock that was stretching it too wide, vainly trying to repel it.<br><br>Each thrust was grinding the cock head against the raw walls of her larynx and pushing mucus up her nose and down her nostrils. Her bloodshot eyes were bulging out, unable to focus, her face had a dark red shade, her flaring nostrils were surrounded by bubbles and trickles of snot.<br><br>As she grew weaker and softer, Aaron began to play with her breasts and then her destroyed fingers. The pain in the latter was inhuman. She tried to moan but she had not enough air for that. Her eyes rolled and blinked madly. The bones were grinding against each other, causing spears of agony to shoot up her forearms. Desperately, she tried to move her hands away but only succeeded in torturing herself, while her fingers stirred in strange patterns.<br><br>At last Kriss felt the cock penetrate even deeper into her throat, before throbbing and jerking as it shooted its load of warm sperm directly down her oesophagus. A lot semen entered her trachea, causing her to cough even more violently. The man moved away and she fell on her back. Her body was contorting as she coughed and strangled, torrents of semen mixed with mucus spurting out of her wide gaping mouth. For long seconds, Kriss thought she was going to die like that, drown in her own saliva. But at last, she managed to clear her windpipe and noisily suck in some fresh air.<br><br>She remained on her back for a long time, breathing noisily, panting hard, recovering some physical and mental strength after the violence of her mouth rape. Later, Aaron helped her on her knees and showed her a can of dubious food standing on the floor. The meal looked awful but Kirss was so hungry that it did no mattered. She lowered her head, rested one end of the yoke on the floor and pushed her face against the can. She was able to catch three mouthfuls of the mixture, using her lips and teeth. But then, even by pressing her face against the can, she could not touch the beans, and her bifid tongue was useless.<br><br>Her stomach was still groaning though. She overturned the can with her chin, spilling its content on the floor. Then she was again able to use her lips to catch the beans and pieces of meat. She was so hungry that she sucked every bit of grease until the floor was shining with her saliva.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Notadrywall</strong> on <strong>10-08-2012, 17:18:56</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Aaron took his time, enjoying his meal. Warm beans may not have been much, but he was used to less. Besides, the entertainment was top notch; his eyes never left the wonderful spectacle of Kriss desperately trying to lick up her food from the filthy concrete floor. Even after he finished his own meal, he let her keep going; lapping gracelessly at the dirt. Only when she'd licked up every last morsel did he finally stand up and walk over to her.<br><br>"There, that's better. Now come one." He said, pulling her to her feat. He then proceeded to lead her across the basement by her yoke, making her walk on her seared soles. He led her to to one side of the room, where there stood two stacks of boxes. They were stable constructions, six feet tall, with a couple of feet between them. Once he had her between them, Aaron took a firm hold of her yoke with both hands, and began to lift her. It was then that he realised just how heavy the yoke was, leading him to consider, with some glee, how hard it must have been for her to carry it so far. Certainly, he strained to lift both its and her weight, but he managed it; hoisting her up and positioning her so that each end of the yoke rested on one of the stacks. This left her dangling, her toes several inches above the ground.<br><br>Once he was sure Kriss was secure, Aaron strolled over to another box, and began searching through it. After a few moments, he produced a bow and a quiver full of arrows. The bow was his, the arrows he had taken from a dead Patrick; not as good as the ones he'd usually use; but good enough for what he had in mind.<br><br>"I now you never really considered me much of a fighter," Aaron mused, as he walked over to the other side of the basement to Kriss, "and I suppose I couldn't have compared to you and that chain of yours. But I'd like to think I know my way around a bow. So I've decided that you can repay me by helping me practice; don't worry, it's an easy job." Now standing across from her, Aaron now pointed his bow at her, before slowly putting an arrow to the string.<br><br>He was a good archer, but still, he took his time lining up the shot. He made sure not to pull the bow string to far back, not wanting the arrow to penetrate to deep. When he was ready, he took his first shot. It was a reasonable one; the arrow sailed across the room and embedded itself in Kriss's left breast. Aaron wasn't quite happy with it though, and he again took his time lining up the next shot. This time his aim was perfect; the arrow hit the bullseye; or as close as the badge would allow. Grinning to himself, Aaron took an equally accurate shot at her right breast, evening out his hits.<br><br>Now that he was warmed up, Aaron decided to try something a bit more fun. He put down the bow, and walked over to one of the many boxes. This one had been here before he had started using the place as a lair, and he had never thought he'd have a use for the contents. Inside was a collection of fake plastic fruit and vegetables. He retrieved a plastic apple, and then walked over to Kriss.<br><br>"You know William Tell, right?" he said casually, flicking one of her breast arrows, "well how about we try something similar." Without a pause, he rammed the apple into her cunt, and began pushing it inside her. He laughed at how little resistance her sex had left to the enormous intrusion, though he realised it was still enough to hurt like hell.<br><br>Once it was firmly inside her - one red hemisphere bulging out from between her lips - Aaron returned to his bow. He didn't have to be as careful now that he wasn't aiming at vital organs, and he drew the bowstring back all the way. The shot struck the apple dead on. Of course, the soft plastic offered little resistance, and the shaft kept going, piercing deep into Kriss's flesh. Pleased with his target, Aaron continued taking shots, firing one arrow after another at his helpless comrade. The first few clustered nicely, all hitting the apple. After that, he started to get lazy, and several began to go wide; embedding themselves in her vulva and even her thighs.<br><br>By the time Aaron got bored, Kriss had a total of nine arrows stuck into and around her groin. Aaron walked over to her, pausing to admire his work. "Well, I'm going to bed, see you in the morning." He said after a moment, before walking out of the room; leaving Kriss dangling.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>13-08-2012, 17:49:25</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Kriss was lifted on her blistered soles and she cringed in agony. She could hardly support her weight as the pain was so high in her burnt feet. Still, half carrying her, half dragging her, Aaron forced her to walk across the basement.<br><br>Then, as he struggled to lift her, pressing his torso against her face, the acrid smell of his sweat invaded her nostrils. At first, she did not understand what he was trying to do. She was only relieved not stand on her blistered soles. But once he had her hanging between the crates, she realised she was in for a new bad time. <br><br>All her weight was now resting on her jaws, skull and wrists. She could not move her head anymore, keeping it angled at about 45° upwards. She could not see the floor but as she stretched her feet and toes, she could not reach it. The pressure on her throat was making breathing difficult and it was also putting a lot of strain on her cervicals. She reached of the crates on her sides with her toes, looking for and edge or a crease to stand upon. Unfortunately, the crate did not offer any hold, although they did shove a couple of splinters into her blistered toes.<br><br>And then he was back in front of her, aiming an arrow at her. Kriss panicked. Was he going to kill her like that?<br><br><strong>"Nooooo... Aaron!!!! Pleaaase!"</strong> she tried to say with her croaking voice and split tongue.<br><br>Too late. The arrow flew at her, like in slow motion. And then it penetrated her left breast. She screamed to the top of her lung as the barbed arrowhead pierced its way through her sensitive flesh. Aaron had measured the speed right. The dart went all the way through and stopped a mere inch before reaching her ribs. Her breast had a strange motion. It flattened down, then bounced up as the arrow stopped, and finally bounced down, pulled by the weight of the long arrow. As its head was barbed, it would not come out easily. It was designed to make more damage going out than going in.<br><br>Kriss could not believe the pain she was feeling. It felt as if a red poked had been pierced through her flesh. And already Aaron was aiming again.<br><br><strong>"NoooooooaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAGGGGHHHHH!!!!"</strong> she screamed as the second arrow pierced her left boob, this time through her areola.<br><br>With two arrows weighing it down, her left breast was now drooping miserably, and each breath was causing the barbed arrow head to torture their insides.<br><br>And then she saw Aaron aim a new arrow at her chest. She could not believe how cold-blooded he was behaving. She was terrified, knowing how painful each arrow was. And then the searing pain hit her again, transfixing her right breast this time. Kriss howled once again in deep agony. She was now panting hard, the three arrows swaying wide with each of her breaths. Her up-turned face was grimacing, covered in a thick layer of sweat. Her face had turned purple.<br><br>But the worst was to come as he shoved a plastic apple in her distended vagina. The arrow pierced it and ended its course into her left buttock. More arrows followed, piercing the apple, pinning it to her buttocks and to her labia. Each arrow was extracting a piercing scream out of her clenched mouth, although each time her voice got more strangled and coarse. The last few arrows embedded themselves in her vulva and thighs as she was rocking her hips to avoid the deadly darts.<br><br>And then he abandoned her to her agony. Kriss was blinded with the pain. Each arrow was torturing her flesh inhumanly. They were deep enough to be firmly anchored into her flesh, but not enough to endanger her life. Still, she was bleeding slowly.<br><br>For some time she called his name, begging and pleading to be released from the horrible suspension. She was slowly strangling herself. From time to time, she would pull on her arms, her biceps would bulge to impressive proportions as she lifted her body by one or two inches. This was enough to let her fill her lungs, and then she banged her jaws back against the yoke and the pressure on her windpipe was acting again, reducing her breath to a laboured trickle.<br><br>At the beginning she tried to swing her legs back and forth, trying to slide the yoke along the top of the crates until it would fall off them. But this caused so much agony in her raw wrist and neck that she soon stopped her efforts. She remained motionless for long periods of time, trying to keep her energy to lift herself up and breathe. Her belly was hollow, her ribs seemed on the verge of piercing through her skin, her face was of a deep purple shade, her teeth were clenched together by the weight of her own body.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Notadrywall</strong> on <strong>30-08-2012, 17:02:40</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Aaron awoke the next morning in a much better mood then he usual. He had fallen into sleep the night before enjoying the faint sound of Kriss crying his name, and he was eager to see how she had pulled up. He strolled into the main basement to find her right where he had left her; dangling limply between the two stacks. She was clearly in bad shape, though not worse then one might expect. She was alive, at least.<br><br>Ignoring her for the time being, Aaron began rekindling the fire. Only when it was crackling again, and his breakfast was beginning to cook nicely did he go over to attend to his guest. Without any gentleness, he used an old rag to clean to wipe the dried blood off of her battered body. While in the process, he naturally became intrigued by the arrow shafts sprouting from her breasts, and began rolling and squeezing at her skin, tracing the path of the projectiles into her flesh. This, of course, brought free blood welling out of her wounds. Aaron sighed, before walking back of to his fire and picking up a poker that rested next to it. He then spent some time heating the tip of the instrument in the flames, waiting until it was good and hot.<br><br>The smell was quite unpleasant, as he began cauterising her wounds, but Aaron pressed on, holding the hot poker against her skin until it melted onto the carbon fibre arrows embedded in her. The breasts were easy enough to do, but the forest of shafts emerging from her groin were harder to work around. None the less, Aaron managed a good enough job to stop most of the bleeding.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>14-09-2012, 00:55:54</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Kriss was barely conscious when Aaron came back. Her breath was laboured, her mouth was gaping wide, her tongue protruding. She had fought against dizziness for the whole night, fearing that she would choke to death if she fell asleep. Her body seemed longer, stretched full length under the yoke. Her breasts and crotch were in agony, the arrows swinging softly in rhythm with her broken panting.<br><br>When her torturer arrived, she hardly noticed him at first. Her eyes were fixed upon the ceiling, narrowed to slits filled with tears. But when he began to knead her breasts, rolling the arrow shafts inside her wounds, she immediately to moan and scream. For hours she had hoped that he would come back and now she wished he left her alone.<br><br><strong>"Please... Let... me... go..."</strong> she begged in a strangled voice.<br><br>But the man did not listen her and simply went away. He came back some time later, carrying a red-hot poker, which he began to press against her wounds, cauterizing them with a puff of smoke, causing her unbelievable agony. The charred flesh was swelling and gripping the shafts, making sure it would be extremely painful to pull them out. Once the breasts were done, he turned to her crotch where he continued his work, eliciting more screams of agony from the helpless girl.<br><br>At last he was done and he left her again to eat. Kriss could see him from the corner of her eyes. Even through her unbelievable torture, she realised she was hungry. The smell of the food was causing her to salivate and her empty belly to groan. She felt so weak, so thirsty, so hungry and so helpless...
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Notadrywall</strong> on <strong>14-09-2012, 02:22:54</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Once he was done with that, Aaron again left Kriss to hang for a while, this time while he ate his breakfast. He took his time, sitting by the fire and eating, while watching his captive dangling, no doubt in significant pain. When he was finally done, he began preparing Kriss's breakfast. This didn't take long, as he gave her nothing more then a filthy bowl full of cold dog food. Holding the bowl full of barely edible slop, he walked over and shoved Kriss from her perch, letting her collapse onto the concrete floor. He then placed the bowl before her, gesturing for her to eat.<br><br>And he made sure she ate. Any time she seemed to hesitate even briefly at taking another bight, he would grab hold of the arrows in her sex and twist, snarling at her to eat. Only when she had finished off every last morsel did he relent.<br><br>Now, he walked around in front of her, and pulled her into a kneeling position, before pulling out his cock and pushing it towards her face. "Good girl, now suck my cock." This time though, he didn't trust her not to bight down, and before starting, he took a hold of her chin, and in one swift motion, dislocated her lower jaw. Now there was nothing she could do to stop him from once again having his way with her throat, which he did in the same manner he had before; driving in deep, with little regard for her well being.<br><br>This time, rather then cumming directly into her throat, Aaron pulled out as he approached climax, letting the warm goo splatter onto Kriss's face, and into her mouth, which now dangled open.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>24-09-2012, 12:36:11</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Kriss was exhausted from accumulated agony and lack of sleep. Even breathing was tiring and painful as she had to force air through her constricted&nbsp; throat while heaving her chest caused the embedded arrows to torture her transfixed breasts. She wished she could die on the spot but unfortunately her instinct would not let her strangle herself. Her laboured breathing would narrow to a painful hiss and coughs, her vision would blacken, her belly would be sucked in, her tongue would protrude from her purple face.<br><br>But then, on the very threshold of death, her body found a penultimate drop of energy and she pulled on her arms and lifted her body, high enough to free her windpipe and long enough to let her take a few gulps of air. Not enough to sate her urge for oxygen, but enough to revive her and allow her to survive and suffer for another five minutes.<br><br>In her plight, she hardly noticed what Aaron was doing until he came back to her and kicked her from the crates. She fell hard on her knees and then her face was crashed into the floor by the momentum of the heavy yoke. The arrows ground against the concrete and fanned&nbsp; in different directions, twisting their barbed heads inside her swollen boobs. The thickness of the yoke saved her nose from being broken. She fought to keep her butt high in the air to prevent the arrows from touching the ground.<br><br>As she breathed freely again and filled her avid lungs, Aaron pushed a bowl of dog food against her face. Kriss was very hungry she wolfed down the content of the bowl as fast as she could, plunging her face into the vessel, licking every bit. The taste was not so bad, mostly salty. There were bits of bone and cartilage she had to chew harder on but anyway the food felt good to her craving stomach and it restored some of her exhausted energy.<br><br>Once the bowl was empty, she was yanked up on her knees. Her bald face was a mess, covered with dog food and tears. The "GRAY BITCH" tattoo was glistening across her forehead. Aaron was standing in front of her, his erect cock darted at her. She let out a deep sigh. But suddenly the man twisted her head backward until is banged against the timbers of the yoke and then, grabbing her chin, he pulled it down hard. She heard a sickening noise in her skull as her jaw bone was broken. A sharp pain pierced through her joint and she screamed. She tried to close her mouth but only caused more pain as her jaw remained dangling, shaking helplessly.<br><br>And then the rape of her mouth unrolled, more brutal than ever. Her mouth was gaping wide, Aaron's cock could ram as far as he wanted, banging against the back of her throat, making her gag and retch helplessly. Her eyes were bulging, her nostril flaring as she tried to breathe and fight the feeling of drowning. The man's balls were bouncing against her lower lips, his hairy pubic bone was thrusting against her nose. Again she was struggling for air while her stomach revolted against the violation of her throat.<br><br>Until finally Aaron came, spraying her greasy face with his sperm, landing it in long whitish streaks across her features.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Notadrywall</strong> on <strong>25-09-2012, 06:19:00</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Once he had caught his breath again, Aaron smiled and spoke up cheerfully, "Right, well, I'm afraid I have some things I need to do today," he walked over to a crate, and came back with a length of sturdy rope, which he began to coil around the base of Kriss's breasts, "but I'll be back before you know it, I'll be back, and we can get you ready to go home." As he said this, Aaron yanked hard on the rope, pulling the slip knots he had made tight and crushing her breasts till they were only a few inches across at the base. Once he was sure it was secure, he tossed the other end of the rope over a ceiling beam, and yanked on it, dragging Kriss up onto her tip toes but her bound breasts. Finally he tied it off on one of the support pillars.<br><br>He then took a moment to eye Kriss up and down; it was quite amusing, the last he had seen her, she had been a beautiful young woman, now she barely seemed human. At any rate, she wasn't going anywhere, not without wrenching her own tits off.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>25-09-2012, 11:22:06</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				By now, Kriss was too weak to resist as Aaron cinched a noose around her aching breasts. She attempted to hit him with her yoke but this almost made her lose her balance without achieving any effect. And soon she was standing on the tip of her toes, her weight mostly supported by the tight rope around the base of her boobs.<br><br>The situation was very precarious as she could hardly keep her balance because of the yoke. As a result, she was constantly tip-toeing, staggering, dancing so as to prevent her own weight from yanking more on her poor breasts. They seemed to have doubled in volume. The ropes strangled them, trapping blood and humours inside them, causing them to swell like melons and as taut as them. They were stretched upwards to the point that Kriss' arrow-pierced nipples were level with her mouth.<br><br>She did not know how long she could stand like that. Already her calves were tiring. The idea that Aaron could go away and abandon her like that for any amount of time was unbearable. She tried to beg him to stay and unhook her, but her dislocated lower jaw was resting motionlessly on the top of the yoke. She was drooling abundantly. Still, her soiled face and pleading eyes conveyed clearly enough the distress she was in as pitiful moans escaped her gaping mouth.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Notadrywall</strong> on <strong>26-09-2012, 16:29:50</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Kriss was clearly in a bit of an uncomfortable position; she was stumbling around pitiably on her toes, obviously desperate to keep wait off of her already brutalised tits. It wasn't working, that was obvious enough to Aaron; her already ample bosoms were stretching and swelling to comic proportions, and they were quickly beginning to turn an unhealthy looking shade of purple. Casually, Aaron raked his fingernails down the exposed underside of one of her mistreated breasts, her could only guess at the pain her situation was was causing her, but he hoped it was hellish.<br><br>At any rate, she was moaning frantically, and there was fear in her eyes under the layer of cooling ejaculate coating her features. Aaron grinned a boyish smile; Kriss had always tried to pass herself off as strong willed and capable, so it was nice to see her broken down like this, trying to plead with him through a broken mouth that would likely never again form a coherent syllable. He lent in close to her face, looking around the tortured mammaries obscuring it. <br><br>"Now now, Kriss, don't get so upset, we both know you deserve this," he crooned, "besides, it's just for today; and then I'll take you home, I promise. Won't that be nice? just try thinking about that." Aaron smiled warmly at her again, and affectionately rustled the forest of arrows now growing from her nethers. Then he turned away and left the basement, leaving Kriss with her thoughts and her pain. He knew she wasn't a smart girl, but he did wander if she was smart enough to realise what being taken home would mean; after all, he couldn't have her telling people about what he'd done.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>16-10-2012, 12:41:41</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Kriss was in too much agony to be able to analyse the implications in Aaron's promise. In fact, she was not even really believing him. She had been given so much false hopes since she had been caught by the Patricks. She knew that New-York had turned to an urban jungle but never would she have imagined so much cruelty was possible. It was as if every body wanted to make his fellows humans pay for the misery the World had reached. Or was it only against her? Would they have behaved differently with someone else? Had her self-confidence irritated peoples so much that they wanted to make her pay. Kriss' thoughts were bouncing inside her pain-soaked brains.<br><br>Her entire weight, augmented with the heavy yoke was now supported only by the tip of her big toes and the strangled bases of her breasts. As she tried to keep her painful and precarious balance, the heavy piece of wood kept swinging and pivoting around her raw-skinned neck, partly choking her. From the corner of her eyes she could see the top of her breasts. They had turned a dark purple, they had swollen to incredible proportions as blood and fluids got trapped inside them. Their skin was so taut that it looked on the verge of breaking where the arrows were embedded into them. They were also stretching away from her chest. As the tissues were slowly broken and elongated, she was sure that her formerly proud breasts would never again recover their shape. They would rather dangle down her belly, flopping around in an ugly way whenever she would not be supporting them with a bra. This was the last addition to her uglification. She had been turned into a powerless creature that could inspire only horror and pity. Her tattoos, her scars, her broken joints and now her destroyed breasts had extracted all feminity out of her; all humanity even. Her dislocated jaws did not even allowed her to speak coherently.<br><br>For what felt like hours and hours, she remained tip-toeing on the concrete floor. At first, she had only been able to stand on the tip of her biggest toes. Now she was able to be on the ball of her feet, and her heels were much closer from the floor. It was a terrible indication of the change in her breasts. Her tired voice had soon grown coarse and rasped, until it had finally failed her. Her mouth was parched from too much screaming and drooling. Her jaw was dangling at a bizarre angle, mercifully resting on the yoke, which prevented it from swinging too much.<br><br>Kriss' eyes were blood-shot, fixed upon the ring in the ceiling to which the boob-strangling ropes were converging. In her throes, she had spun on herself and the ropes were twisted a few times together. However, her broken mind was unable to make out in which sense she should spin to release the kink.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Notadrywall</strong> on <strong>16-10-2012, 15:58:10</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Finally, after the day had passed, and the sun had set outside, the sound of footsteps echoed from outside. Aaron whistled a jaunty tune to himself, as he descended the stairs into his basement hideout. He swung open the door and marched inside; he was carrying a bulging pack on his back, full of the day's loot, as well as a gift or two for Kriss. Once he had dumped the heavy load down by the remains of the fire, he finally looked up to see how his guest was doing. He couldn't help but wince slightly at the sight of her battered form; tits stretched to ridiculous proportions. Shaking his head, he walked over to his tortured captive, drawing his knife as he went. <br><br>Aaron paused in front of the bound woman, eyeing her up and down. He spent a few moments using the tip of his knife to prod at the bulging purple orbs, which could only barely be identified as having once been breasts. After that, he drew his arm back, before slashing out with his knife, severing the ropes that held her upright it one swipe. At the same time he gave Kriss a hard shove, sending her unbalanced form toppling onto her back. Once she was down, he placed a foot on her yoke, in case she tried to struggle, and again examined his captive. Now that they were free to bounce around - though still noosed at their base - it became clear just how stretched and deformed Kriss's tits had become. Aaron's lip raised in disgust; their was not much left of the woman he would once have given a lot to spend a night with. He couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy at the Patricks for getting a chance with her before she was all broken. He wondered what they did with her. Did she fight? Did she beg?<br><br>Sighing, Aaron knelt down over Kriss, again brandishing his knife. "You know, I was thinking that - once we got back home - you'd be able to get by giving throat fucks to boys, but now I'm not sure any one will want to put their dicks near any of your holes," he shrugged, "oh well, we'll find a use for you anyway, toilet perhaps. Anyway, let's get you ready for the trip." With this, he reached into her mouth and took hold of one of tongue halves. With his other hand, he carefully slid his knife into her mouth, before neatly cutting the tongue half off at its base. After extracting the severed muscle, he repeated the process on the other half.<br><br>For a moment, Aaron looked down at the two severed bit of meat in his palm, wandering what to do with them. Then he had an idea; picking one up with his fingers, he drove it back into Kriss's mouth, forcing it to the back and into her throat. "Swallow!" he instructed, holding it there until she did. Once it had gone down, he picked up the other piece, and jammed that too into the helpless woman's throat, forcing her to swallow it.&nbsp; 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>16-10-2012, 16:41:45</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Kriss was barely conscious when Aaron came back. She was drifting on a pain-filled ocean, trying to remain upright on her feet, whose heels were now flat on the ground. What little light used to be in the poorly lit room had nearly completely disappeared. As Aaron positioned himself in front of her, her pain-blurry eyes blinked open as she tried to make sense of what was happening.<br><br>Forgetting that her jaws were dislocated, she tried to speak, to beg for some water to moisten her parched mouth. However, the sounds that croaked out of her raw throat could hardly be recognised as human. When Aaron raked his knife against the ultra-taut skin of her grotesquely deformed breasts, her voice turned to miserable, raucous moans similar to the creaking of a bad-oiled, rusty hinge while distress caused the wrecked girl to roll her eyes and feebly shake her head.<br><br>And then, as he cut the rope and kicked her, she crashed hard on her back, her skull banging hard against the floor. Her lower jaw hit her upper one before falling again slightly sideways. Stars exploded in her head and she would have been quite unable to do anything, even if her former ally had not been pinning her yoke down.<br><br>Kriss thought she had already been subjected to the vilest atrocities on Earth but what followed was even worse. She made desperate, plaintive sounds as he reached into her mouth with his knife. She vainly tried to close her mouth, only causing herself more agony while her jaw trembled spastically. Sharp pain followed along with the hot taste of blood flooding her mouth and then she saw him brandishing the two halves of her tongue in front of her.<br><br>In her horror, she managed to bridge her body up, resting on her heels and shoulders only, while blood spurted from her wounded mouth. And then the ultimate atrocity happened as he shoved one of the pieces of her own flesh down her gaping mouth. She tried to spit it out but without her tongue and with her jaw broken, it was totally useless. The bloody bit only moved deeper, threatening to choke her. With desperate gagging movement, she managed to gulp the half tongue down her oesophagus. She hardly had the time to recover her breath before Aaron forced her to swallow the second half.<br><br>Kriss was shocked and fighting the urge to vomit. The idea that she had just swallowed her own tongue was disgusting even to her battered mind. She knew however that vomiting would do no good in her position and did her best efforts to prevent it.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Notadrywall</strong> on <strong>17-10-2012, 03:07:27</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"Wow, you didn't like that," Aaron mused, watching Kriss squirm, horror in her eyes at what she'd just been forced to do, "I'm not sure what your problem is, really; your jaws probably not going to ever heal anyway, so its not like you needed your tongue for talking - not that you ever had anything intelligent to say anyway - so it may as well serve as your dinner tonight, right? At any rate, if that's the worse thing that happens to you tonight, consider yourself lucky. Speaking of which..."<br><br>Aaron briefly left Kriss to lie on her back, as he stood up and walked over to his pack. He began rummaging around in it, taking some time to find what he was after amongst the day's haul. Finally, though, he returned to his prone victim carrying a small bottle and an eye dropper. He again stooped over her, removing the safety cap from the bottle. Grinning down at her, he dipped the dropper inside and filled it with the liquid within. He then extended it over her stomach, and let a few drops fall on her bare skin. It was like that that she would learn that the bottle contained acid, strong enough to burn her skin, but not enough to cause serious damage. Aaron only gave her belly a few drips, though, it wasn't his intention just to torture her with it. Now that he had let her know what it was, he moved up to her face. With his thumb and fore finger, he reached down to hold open the lid of her left eye. Using the dropper, he then let a few drops fall onto her eyeball.<br><br>The acid took effect immediately, sizzling slightly. Right away, white clouds began forming on Kriss's eye, and it wasn't long before the surface was a clouded over entirely. Aaron had met blind people before, many of them could still make out shapes or degrees of light. Kriss would not be so lucky.<br><br>Moving on to her other eye, Aaron paused for a second to laugh; "well Kriss, I'm curious, did you ever think this would be the last thing you ever see." He proceeded to pull out his erect cock, and slap its wet length on her good eye a few times. When he was done with that, he brought up the dropper again, and proceeded to blind Kriss completely.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>17-10-2012, 11:44:08</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				As Aaron moved from her and turned his back to her, Kriss attempted to sit up. She had to do something while she was relatively free. Alas, by now she was too weak to even lift the yoke from the floor. Folding her legs, she tried to kneel as she used to do but she was too exhausted and in pain. Every move caused the arrows to move painfully within her flesh. When the man came back, she was still at the same place, panting heavily from her vain efforts.<br><br>She looked at him with pleading eyes, trying to wake some pity into his heart, but he was ignoring her, entirely focused on the bottles he was manipulating. And then she saw him let a few droplets fall on her belly. Immediately she felt her skin burn where they had landed. She squealed and shook her belly, trying to get rid of the acid. She frantically banged her butt on the floor without success. At last the fiery sensation receded, either because the acid had finally disappeared or because it had killed all her pain receptors.<br><br>But then Aaron moved to behind her head. He blocked her face between his knees and stretched her eye open. Kriss realised what he was about to do and panic exploded inside her. Her wounded mouth bellowed frantic and desperate moans and grunts as she was vainly trying her destroyed speech organs to move. Bubbles of saliva dribbled from the corners of her mouth in the process.<br><br>Like in slow motion, Kriss saw the drop grow under the eye-dropper, get fatter, longer and then fall. Immediately an intense burn invaded all her eyeball. It felt as if it was going down into the depth of her brains. She tried convulsively to close her eyelids. Her eyes rolled in all directions. The acid was eating her cornea, making it totally blurry. Then it ate its way through it and through the lens before getting into the vitreous cavity where it diluted into the aqueous humour. The dilution was not enough to completely deactivate it and it began to slowly kill her retina. She saw a black spot spreading wider and wider across her sight field, while the pain was throbbing in her entire skull. Her incoherent screams had changed from begging to agony.<br><br>Kriss was shocked, terrified. Blind, she would be totally helpless, totally dependent. In the new world, it was synonymous with death.<br><br>And then she saw Aaron's filthy cock invade her sight. An immense hope filled her heart. He was going to leave her one eye, just to humiliate her. And for a few seconds she loved this cock, she wanted to look at it, to suck it. It was like a protector... But the it left, it moved away, replaced by the dreadful bottle.<br><br>She screamed a sound that might have been a "NOOOOO". And then the fire exploded in her head again, plunging her into burning whiteness, with that black spot growing and growing until she was left totally blind while the pain slowly receded in her eyes.<br><br>She could not believe that she would never see again.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Notadrywall</strong> on <strong>07-11-2012, 06:19:26</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Aaron pursed his lips, examining his work. Kriss's eyes were clouded over, and to make sure the effect was total, he pulled his arm back and delivered a swift munch into her face. She didn't react until after the blow landed, not even reflexively, suggesting her vision was gone completely. Aaron nodded approvingly to himself. He was still holding the dropper in his hands, and he let a few more drops fall onto her swollen tits, before moving the apparatus down, and shoving it into her cunt, working it roughly to get it around the plastic apple still stuck there. He then proceeded to empty the droppers contents into her.<br><br>Once he was done was that, he moved onto his next task. Stowing the acid bottles and dropper, he returned to Kriss's prone form carrying just just trusty knife. He looked down at her, and held it up, smiling. He then remembered her blindness and felt a bit silly.<br><br>Aaron again knelt down over his doomed victim, taking a hold of her bald head with his left hand. He looked down at her for a little while, trying to remember what she'd looked like when she'd been pretty. "Hmm," he started contemplatively, "I was meaning to come up with some appropriate last words to say to you, but I've got nothing," he pondered for a moment, before placing the tip of his knife into her ear. Tightening his grip on her head with his other hand, he pushed the tip a little bit deeper, until he felt it pierce her eardrum. He worked it around just a little bit, to make sure it wouldn't heal, before removing it, and switching his grip over for the other ear, "you know, it's a shame I have to do this, blinding you too, I would have really like for you to be able to see the looks on everyone faces, and hear their reactions, when you get home."<br><br>He proceeded to repeat the deafening process for the other ear. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>07-11-2012, 10:56:58</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Kriss felt as if her head was going to explode from the pain. The acid was burning her eyes, feeling as if drills were sinking into her eye sockets. Tears were flowing abundantly, vainly trying to wash off the chemical liquid. She could see nothing but pitch darkness. She wondered whether it was temporary or if she would regain some sense of light as her eyes healed. But suddenly her world exploded as Aaron's fist crashed into her destroyed face. A coarse howl of agony echoed among the walls.<br><br>Then more acid, or was it cigarette burns? on her breasts. And then the burning of her traumatised vagina. Kriss' destroyed body was thrashing about as much as her restraints and stamina allowed as she tried to expel the acid from her body, her jaws wobbling helplessly as she tried to beg for pity.<br><br>After long minutes, she calmed down, even though her body and brains were still wracked with pain. She felt something cold against her ear. Something, probably a knife, was forcing itself into her ear channel!<br><br><strong>"Oooooooo!!!!"</strong> she yelled, trying to move her head away but quickly blocked by the yoke. There was a loud scratching, she felt some warm liquid invading her ear, and then, after a sharp pain, a deafening, high-pitched noise invaded her left ear, much like a Larsen effect. After having blinded her, Aaron was deafening her! She tried to shake her head free but he was holding it too tightly. She felt nauseous. What was her life going to be? She preferred to die...<br><br>And then her right ear too exploded in pain and the high-pitched sound became stereo. She was now totally isolated from the surrounding world, deaf and blind, her pain receptors saturated, and unable to produce meaningful sounds. Her shattered fingers would prevent any form of written communication. She was a total wreck.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Notadrywall</strong> on <strong>03-02-2013, 11:29:32</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Aaron rose slowly to his feet, glancing down at the wreck before him. There wasn't much left of the former warrior; certainly nothing left of her former beauty. The only arousal he got from Kriss now was thinking about how much pain she must be in. With a shrug, he pulled his erect cock from his trousers and worked himself to climax, letting his seed fall onto her helpless form. Once he was done, he looped a length of rope around her ankle, and the other end around one of the basement support pillars. He couldn't imagine that she would need much more restraining then that. She wouldn't exactly be escaping with no eyes and ears.<br><br>Leaving her to her thoughts, Aaron lit a small fire and prepared himself dinner, which he ate in silence. He was once again alone, he realised, or close enough to it; he wasn't about to have a conversation with Kriss at this point. He smiled to himself, realising that no one else ever would either. Once he was finished eating, he spent a short while just staring at the glow of the dying fire before, with nothing better to do, going to bed.<br><br>The sun was already up by the time he awoke the next day. Aaron took his time getting up and about, making himself breakfast and washing his face. Once he was done he finally attended to his captive. "Time to take you home," he grinned, once again forgetting her deafness.<br><br>Having untied her ankle, he yanked her to her feet, tying a new rope around her yoke, as near to the centre as possible. He took hold of the other end in his own hand, and used it as a leash to tug her along, leading her out of the basement and onto the street.<br><br>From there is was no short walk, for either of them, and Aaron often became irritated with having to keep the stumbling bitch on her feet, let alone in the right direction. Nonetheless, with a generous application of the point of his boot and the back of his hand, he was able to lead his comrade back to friendly soil. As they grew closer to the park, Aaron began sticking to side roads and alleys, not wanting to run into fellow Batterists who might ask questions. Still, despite his caution, by the time the trip was done, they were within a block of home.<br><br>Here, standing in a back alley, Aaron bid farewell to Kriss, eyeing her form for one last time. He took his leash with him and set off back into the city. It wouldn't be long before some one from the park found her, probably. <br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>04-02-2013, 11:15:41</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Kriss was writhing in her lonely suffering. Her head was bursting with pain coming from her ears and eyes. Her gaping jaw dangling at a bizarre angle and drooling abundantly as she moaned in utter agony, sounds she could not even ear now. She was too weak to move much. The yoke was forcing her to rest on her back, her crotch and breasts bristling with arrows. She felt something warm land on her face and chest, then a rope bound around her ankle and then nothing.<br><br>Nothing at all. No sound, no light. She was totally isolated from the world and would be so for ever. After a long time, she thought Aaron had abandoned her in that basement. She tried to get on her knees but she was so weak now and so hurting from everywhere that she could not even lift the yoke from the floor. She was hungry and even more thirsty. Unable to close her broken mouth, her saliva was drooling freely, leaving her palate completely parched and dry as dust. Bracing on her heels, she managed to push herself in the vague direction of where she remembered the stairs were.<br><br>She was quickly stopped by her bound ankle though. Using the toes from her free foot, she explored the coarse knot. Maybe she could undo it. But what would she do then? How could she hope to climb those stairs. Still, her mind could not resolve itself to abandon, to die alone in that basement. She fought with her toes, fumbling around the thick rope, until she had managed to undo the knot.<br><br>And then she continued to push herself until her head banged against something. Was it the wall? Was it the first step of the stairs? She would never know as, at this moment, she was yanked to her feet. She moaned as her weight was once again pressing on her burned soles. The arrows stuck into her breasts moved around, refreshing the pain she was feeling.<br><br>And then she felt a kick in her butt and she understood she had to walk. Who was there? Aaron? Someone else. There was no way for her to tell. She climbed the stairs with difficulty. Her legs were trembling, she felt so weak, so powerless.<br><br>The long walk began. From the heat on her naked skin she knew it was daylight. She could even tell they were moving southwards. It was a painful walk. She was hurting from everywhere. She was exhausted. Often, she stumbled and fell hard on the cracked macadam, breaking the arrows until they were reduced to stumps hardly protruding from her flesh. Whenever she fell from exhaustion, she was brutally yanked back to her feet and beaten until she walked again.<br><br>The trip became tortuous, with frequent changes of direction. Still, she could tell they were going south, thanks to the feeling of heat on her skin. Were they going to the Battery Fort? There was no way to tell. But at least they were approaching their territory.<br><br>The walk took hours. Or at least it felt like hours to her. And then, suddenly, she was left alone. No more beating to force her forward. Maybe the man was around, maybe he was gone. She had no way to tell.<br><br>Kriss was exhausted, her legs were trembling, she was thirsty like hell. However, she did not dare to sit down. She knew it would be extremely difficult for her to stand up. She decided to force herself to move forward.<br><br>And she did so, until she entered a patch of sun once again. Orienting herself towards the heat, she continued to walk in a more or less south direction.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Deathnote</strong> on <strong>14-02-2013, 06:32:03</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Although they were not quite yet in the Battery Fort, Machete still knew to be cautious about running into any Batterist who may be nearby.&nbsp; He was confident that he could take on a small group of them, though he doubted it would come to that.&nbsp; Most knew his face well enough to leave him alone.&nbsp; Still, there tended to be one or two stupid enough to try and make a name for themselves.&nbsp; Then there was the Gray Bitch...<br><br>Machete's hand went up to the scar that was left on his tanned face, left by a bicycle chain.&nbsp; If it weren't for his doctor friend, that wound would've likely led to a slow and agonizing death.&nbsp; He could still remember that feeling when he received that wound.&nbsp; The rush.&nbsp; The adrenaline.&nbsp; The excitement of meeting his match.&nbsp; He wondered if he would ever feel that again.&nbsp; His name was Machete because of the machete he carried on his belt.&nbsp; He also happened to carry a hatchet, a fireman's axe he found in the rubble, but his favoured weapon and the one he was most known for was his two feet long blade of death.<br><br>He snapped out of his daze long enough to remember what he was doing.&nbsp; His dog, a labrador retriever ran ahead of him and disappeared out of sight.&nbsp; He wondered if he should start using a leash, but decided against it.&nbsp; One of the silver linings of this post-apocalyptic wasteland was that there were no more rules.&nbsp; There was only freedom.&nbsp; Why should the dog be denied that?<br><br>"Shadow!&nbsp; Here boy!" Machete continued calling as he made his way down the street.&nbsp; He glanced around in search of his lost dog, seeing if there was any response to his shouts.&nbsp; It was at that moment that he heard a bunch of barking.&nbsp; After following the sounds of the barkings, he caught sight of his dog.&nbsp; He quickly ran over, but suddenly stopped as soon as he had a clearer picture of what was going on.<br><br>His dog, Shadow was standing over what appeared to be a dead body with one leg up in the air.&nbsp; No... the body was still moving now that he had a closer look at it.&nbsp; Shadow, it seemed, was pissing all over this poor soul's face.&nbsp; He had seen many mangled pieces of flesh that were once human bodies, but even he had to keep himself was cringing upon what he saw.<br><br>"Shadow, c'mon.&nbsp; Over here," Machete hissed at his dog as he got closer.&nbsp; He stopped until the barely breathing half-corpse was right at his feet.&nbsp; He then crouched down to take a closer look.&nbsp; A look of shock came across his face as soon as he saw hers.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>14-02-2013, 11:34:56</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Kriss had walked and walked and walked. She was using the sun to try and keep a more or less southward direction but she had no real way to know how correct she had been. She had tried to follow the curb of the street but there was so much rubble accumulated along the way that she often had to go round them, which broke her orientation sense.<br><br>She did not dare to rest, she did not dare to sit. She was totally lost in her permanent silence and night. Her remaining sense were saturated with her agony. At some point, she had stumbled over some unseen obstacle. Unable to catch her balance, she had fallen hard on her back onto a pile of rubble. For hours she had tried to stand up, her legs desperately contorting searching for something to hook on. The yoke was too heavy for her now and she could not even see where to go to find something to brace against.<br><br>She managed to push herself over a few yards until her stamina had been all used up. And then she waited, waited and waited. Waited for something to happen, for someone to find her or for death to take her. In the sun she was sweating profusely. As she could not close her mouth, she had kept drooling until her mouth was totally dry and parched. She was terribly thirsty. She knew she could last three days before dying of thirst. This was going to be a horrible death.<br><br>From the change in the temperature, she knew the sun was about to set. She was moving weakly, mostly to chase away the flies that were driving her crazy with their constant crawling over her body and into her mouth. Suddenly she felt something touching her. It was hairy, it smelled like an animal. And the moment later, a warm stream of pungent liquid splashed over her face.<br><br>Dog pee! she immediately realised. This was the ultimate humiliation. The dog was peeing on her, asserting its property. Was it going to eat her alive? She shivered. Still, she was so thirsty that she turned her head so as to collect as much of the foul liquid as she could. The taste and the smell were disgusting, but it soothed her parched mouth and lips and felt as ambrosia as it flew down her burning gullet.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Deathnote</strong> on <strong>15-02-2013, 07:42:18</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"Shadow!&nbsp; Stop that!&nbsp; Shoo!" Machete quickly pulled his dog away from Kriss.&nbsp; He looked down at the woman he thought was supposed to be the Gray Bitch, the most feared woman around.&nbsp; He could hardly believe that such a strong and capable warrioress could be brought down to such depths.&nbsp; He simply stared as the pile of flesh and bones before him greedily gulped down the dog piss like it was vodka or something.&nbsp; How could... it couldn't be.&nbsp; She couldn't be the Gray Bitch.&nbsp; She just couldn't.<br><br>Machete stared at those two words that were tattooed on her forehead.&nbsp; This had to be some kind of sick and twisted joke.&nbsp; Maybe this was some other poor girl who was made to resemble Kriss.&nbsp; That was probably it!&nbsp; Maybe... maybe the real Kriss was behind it.&nbsp; No... that didn't make any sense, did it?&nbsp; He had heard that the Patricks had recently captured Kriss, but Machete dismissed it as a rumour.&nbsp; Even if she was caught, if anyone could escape the Patricks, it was her.<br><br>"What the hell happened to you," Machete reached out with trembling hands.&nbsp; He touched the words "Gray Bitch" on her forehead.&nbsp; He had to be sure that it was real.&nbsp; Those words were more haunting to him than even the obviously blind eyes.&nbsp; Those words were what stared back at him.&nbsp; Those words that were the only evidence left of who this woman used to be.&nbsp; Then a flash of anger crossed his face as he reached out and grabbed Kriss by the shoulders.&nbsp; He angrily shook her and shouted, "What the hell happened to you?!&nbsp; You're supposed to be better than this, damn it!&nbsp; How the hell did the great and mighty Gray Bitch get reduced to such a pathetic pile of trash?!"<br><br>Seething with rage, Machete drew his blade and straddled Kriss's stomache.&nbsp; He reached down to grab a hold of the top of Kriss's head.&nbsp; Didn't she used to have such beautiful red hair?&nbsp; Of course they shaved it off.&nbsp; It looked like they did quite the number on her scalp, as well.&nbsp; He wondered if her hair could still grow back.&nbsp; Still... without her eyes, she would never be the same.&nbsp; Gripping her head tightly, Machete slid the dull side of his blade along Kriss's cheek.&nbsp; He wondered if she could tell how long it was.&nbsp; He wondered if she remembered him.&nbsp; Maybe... maybe not.&nbsp; It didn't matter any more.&nbsp; With the sharp end of his blade he made a shallow cut along Kriss's forehead, crossing out the word "Gray Bitch".<br><br>"You're not the Gray Bitch.&nbsp; Don't you ever dare use that name again, you worthless whore," Machete continued growling even as tears started forming at the corner of his eyes.&nbsp; Even as they dropped down onto Kriss's lips, Machete put his blade away.&nbsp; He then pulled out his hatchet.&nbsp; Grabbing a hold of the yoke, he proceeded to slam his axe down as hard as he could with all of his strength.&nbsp; He didn't care if it didn't work.&nbsp; Right now, he just wanted to destroy something and right now the yoke was the only thing on Kriss that was in any condition to be destroyed.<br><br>Whether or not chopping at the yoke yielded any results, Machete would proceed to attempt to yank Kriss back onto her feet.&nbsp; He refused to believe that the Gray Bitch was truly gone.&nbsp; He wanted proof, any proof, that the Gray Bitch still lived.&nbsp; He wanted to see her walk on her two feet again.&nbsp; He wanted to see the Gray Bitch back on her feet.&nbsp; "C'mon!&nbsp; Get up!&nbsp; Get the fuck up!&nbsp; Prove me wrong, damn it!&nbsp; Prove to me that you truly are the Gray Bitch!"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>15-02-2013, 14:51:08</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The warm, pungent stream splashing over her face suddenly stopped and Felina felt something or someone new was next to her. She slowly turned her face from side to side, as if looking for someone. She tried to speak and her broken jaw moved awkwardly while the stump of her tongue moved at the back of her gaping mouth. Some coarse, inform noise came out.<br><br>She had no way to know who was there but it was better than to be alone. Maybe he would help her, or maybe he would kill her. Both things were better than dying along from thirst.<br><br>She felt trembling hands touch her, trembling from rage. They touched her forehead, meaning the man - his odour was male - knew who she was. The fact he was in rage indicated he was an enemy. Maybe it was better. She would die and remain the powerful, untouched Kriss in the memories of those who loved her. She produced a few more gargles as kind of challenge thrown at her unseen opponent.<br><br>She could feel the anger growing in her protagonist, she could feel him tremble. Now that she was blind and deaf, she realised her other senses were able to convey information she would never have imagined was present. The man shook her by the shoulders and finally sat on her stomach. She contorted her legs in a mock fight, as if she could still be able to bridge up and eject him from her belly. She felt his sweaty hands over her face, she felt his breath upon her, and then the cold steel of a blade against her cheek. He was going to kill her, that was certain. He was going to cut her throat. Kriss steeled herself for what was about to happen. Soon all her pains would be forgotten.<br><br>Suddenly there was line of fire across her forehead. She screamed out loud, her jaw jerked by spasms, bubbles of stinking saliva drooling down. She felt blood running down her face. What was this man doing? Why did he not cut her throat? She tried to kick her knees into his back. Maybe if she could hurt him he would get even angrier at her?<br><br>But nothing happened. She felt him tremble, or was it hiccups? And then some salty liquid dropping into her mouth. Was he crying? Was this a friend? Kriss was totally lost. She moaned.<br><br>And then the hell seemed to crumble upon her. Hard shocks landing on her yoke, echoing through her whole skeleton. Violence, brutal blows. Her body jerking with the slams. The yoke was made of two former rail crossties. They were made of compact, hard wood. Each slam of the axe only made a shallow dent into it. It would take at least an hour to cut through them.<br><br>Suddenly Kriss felt herself lifted by the yoke, strangled. Her legs jerked and her feet found the ground. She managed to stand and keep her balance. During her forced laying, she had recovered some strength. Maybe that was a friend after all? Maybe he was going to lead her to the Battery Fort?
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Deathnote</strong> on <strong>16-02-2013, 08:53:31</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"Tch... looks like you've still got some fight left in ya," Machete commented as soon as Kriss was back on her feet.&nbsp; He felt a glimmer of hope earlier when Kriss started fighting back, no matter how pathetically.&nbsp; As long as there was still there, Machete felt optimistic that the old Gray Bitch could be brought back from the dead.&nbsp; Grabbing a hold of Kriss's yoke, he started leading her in the direction of the Battery Fort.&nbsp; His other hand was wielding the machete, just in case.&nbsp; "Now c'mon.&nbsp; Let's go get you some help."<br><br>It took a while longer, but they were eventually able to reach the front entrance, where a few alarmed Batterists immediately recognized Machete.&nbsp; They did not, however, appear to recognize Kriss.&nbsp; At least not at first, anyway.&nbsp; One of them pointed out the scratched out words on Kriss's forehead, eliciting shocks and gasps throughout the warriors.&nbsp; Machete thought he saw a couple of them even vomit.&nbsp; They cautiously approached Machete and Kriss while one of them ran inside to alert the others.&nbsp; They immediately stopped in their tracks again as soon as Shadow leapt forward and started barking at them.<br><br>"Tell your leader that Machete's here to return something he lost," Machete smirked as he continued leading Kriss into the fort.&nbsp; He knew he stood no chance against the whole Batterist group and it was probably stupid of him to go into their territory by himself.&nbsp; Still, it would hopefully not come to that.&nbsp; His group and the Batterists had an understanding, after all.<br><br>"What the hell?" The Batterist leader came out of the fort and paused as soon as he saw Machete and the beaten and broken woman in a wooden yoke.&nbsp; He was informed that the woman might be Kriss, but he had a hard time believing it.&nbsp; He turned his eyes on Machete and asked, "Did you do this?"<br><br>"Heh... me?&nbsp; I wish.&nbsp; Nah, this was done by the Patricks.&nbsp; I heard they caught her in a trap, though I didn't believe it at first myself," Machete explained.&nbsp; He stared right back at the Batterist leader.&nbsp; "I found her not too far from here.&nbsp; Not sure how she found her way back what with her eyes like that and all, though."<br><br>"Well, I hope you weren't expecting some kind of reward," the Batterist leader smirked in response.&nbsp; "What need do we have with someone like her?&nbsp; She's useless to us now.&nbsp; Even if she somehow got back here on her own, we would've just cast her back out onto the street.&nbsp; In her condition, she's just as good as dead.&nbsp; Probably wouldn't make for a good fuck, either."<br><br>"Harsh.&nbsp; I'm almost impressed," Machete replied with a malicious grin.&nbsp; "Actually, I came here with an offer.&nbsp; I know how much you wanted to take out the Patricks.&nbsp; Well, how about an alliance between our two groups?"<br><br>"An alliance?"&nbsp; The Batterist leader laughed at that.&nbsp; "What's in it for you?"<br><br>"Well, for one thing, I'll be able to take out the same people who took away the one person who could still challenge me," Machete replied as he pointed the tip of his blade at the leader.&nbsp; "She was the only one who could've given me a worthy fight.&nbsp; Unlike her boss."<br><br>"You've got an interesting way of asking for stuff," The leader looked about ready to cut Machete's throat out, but held off on it.<br><br>"Oh, and since you don't need her anymore, I guess I'll take her off your hands," Machete added quickly.&nbsp; "You'll have to get rid of that yoke first, though.&nbsp; With that thing still one, it'll be one pain in the ass taking her back to my place.&nbsp; So, do we have a deal?"<br><br>"Fine," The leader replied.&nbsp; He motioned toward the others and said, "Go grab whatever tools you can find and get that yoke off of her.&nbsp; That's all I'm doing, though.&nbsp; You'll have to clean her up yourself."<br><br>"Fair enough," Machete shrugged.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>18-02-2013, 17:25:23</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Kriss walked, gently led by her unknown helper. She had no way to know where she was heading but at least the man was not trying to molest her. Not yet at least. The past days had taught her that helpers were never helping for free.<br><br>After what seemed not too long a walk, even though it took her exhausted and ruined body an eternity to complete it, they entered and stopped into some place. She could feel the air "vibrating" around her as if she were surrounded by many persons. Some touched her but it was always a gentle, probing touch. Nothing rough. There was also a smell in the air that she knew. The sea air mixed with something coming from the trees... She was almost sure that she had been brought back to the Battery Fort.<br><br>If her jaws had not been dislocated, she would have smiled. She was safe at last. She would never be the same, but at least she was back home among friends. She would not die miserably in the streets. Exhausted but relieved, she slumped down and fell on her back, her yoke anchoring her to the ground. She wondered what the Batterists were thinking. They must be appalled by her state. Their anger was probably growing and the chief must be already planning a retaliatory raid. She hoped they would bring her some of the Patricks that had punished her like that. She would love squashing their nuts with her knees.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Deathnote</strong> on <strong>21-02-2013, 08:14:50</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Kriss didn't have a whole lot of time to rest before some of the Batterists started working on her yoke.&nbsp; As instructed by their leader, they gathered up as many tools as they could get their hands on and began chipping away at the wood.&nbsp; One of them even managed to find a rusty old saw and tried using that against the wood.&nbsp; As they took turns trying to get the yoke off, the rest of them wanted a closer look at the damage that was inflicted upon her.&nbsp; One of them was not only curious enough, but also daring enough to poke his head between her thighs and look more closely at where woman's clitoris' used to be.&nbsp; Afraid that he might get crushed by Kriss's thighs, he got two men to help him out by holding onto each of her legs and spreading them apart.&nbsp; Only then did he dare to reach out and touch the silver crucifix.<br><br>Other Batterists seemed more interested in the arrows that were embedded into Kriss's breasts.&nbsp; They were chiseled down into stumps, but one of them was able to deduce what they originally were.&nbsp; One of them even tried pulling an arrow out, just to see if that's what it truly was.&nbsp; More of the Batterists were called upon to hold down Kriss while the arrows were taken out one by one.&nbsp; There was no precision or care put into it and it was very doubtful that the one doing the pulling knew what he was doing at all.<br><br>"You know what?&nbsp; This is taking too long.&nbsp; I've a friend who claims to have access to some power tools," Machete said as he looked at the Batterists manhandling their former groupmate.<br><br>"Pfft, he's lying outta of his ass," The Batterist leader scoffed in disbelief.&nbsp; "Even if he's telling the truth, there ain't no way he can get 'em to work.&nbsp; Not without electricity."<br><br>"Claims he's got a way of getting that too," Machete shrugged in response.&nbsp; "Something about using pig fat or whatever.&nbsp; I dunno.&nbsp; I've got my doubts too, but if anyone can get that yoke off, it's him."<br><br>With that, Machete walked over toward Kriss.&nbsp; He glared dangerously at the Batterists, causing them to flee at once.&nbsp; He then grabbed a hold of Kriss and pulled her to her feet.&nbsp; If he had to, he was going to pick her up and carry her on his shoulders before carrying her off to his own group's headquarters.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AurelieCatena</strong> on <strong>25-02-2013, 12:26:16</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Kriss felt that her yoke was being worked upon. The blows, the trembling, the shocks were all transmitted to her sore and raw neck and wrists. It was adding to her pain and the most violent hits were echoing inside her skull but Kriss did not mind. Soon she would be relieved from that infernal burden that had been sucking out her strength for so long.<br><br>While some men were trying to remove the yoke, some were exploring her body. She felt her legs grabbed and parted. A old reflex induced her to struggle but then she remembered she was safe among the Batterists and she allowed them to be stretched obscenely wide. She felt fingers probing her ruined sex, exploring her destroyed womanhood. She sobbed at the thought of the useless monster she had become.<br><br>Then hands began to touch the arrow stubs that were hardly protruding from her breasts and mound. The wounds were fresh and very painful. She moaned and gasped incoherently. This did not stop them to pull on the arrows. They even began to pull on them, stretching her breasts in all directions before the missiles were torn out of her flesh. Her hoarse screams got louder and louder. She tried to escape the brutal treatment, to no avail as men were holding her yoke and her legs down. One by one the arrows were plucked out of her body and then alcohol was poured on the wounds to sterilise them.<br><br>It took her long minutes to calm down. She realised that they had stopped hacking at her yoke. Her heart clenched. Had they renounced? Friendly hands helped her on her feet and then she was led. She had no way to know where in the fort she was nor where she was led. Her breasts and crotch were all mangled, ruined, barely recognisable.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: From St-Patrick to Battery Park (IC)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Deathnote</strong> on <strong>06-03-2013, 00:43:34</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The trip back to Machete's place took a little while longer, though not nearly as long as the trip between the two gang's territories.&nbsp; They didn't have to walk for very long before they reached what remained of the Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel, which had collapsed a long time ago.&nbsp; Fortunately, they weren't going to be needing the tunnel at all.&nbsp; Waiting at the waters was one of Machete's men, who appeared to be sitting in a small boat.<br><br>"Yo, I'm back," Machete greeted his friend as soon as they were within shouting distance.&nbsp; Shadow had already run ahead and was sitting inside the boat, waiting eagerly to set sail.<br><br>"Th-the hell?&nbsp; Machete, who or what the hell is <em>that</em>?" The seafarer explained upon the sight of Kriss's badly deformed body.&nbsp; "I-is that who I think it is?&nbsp; I mean, I heard the rumours, but I didn't think that-"<br><br>"It's her," Machete grumbled in response as he roughly pulled Kriss along onto the boat.&nbsp; He directed her toward the middle of the boat, where they had managed to collect plenty of food along with a bunch of scrap and other junk that they figured might be useful.&nbsp; "If we get her back to the Doc, we might be able to get her looking somewhat human again.&nbsp; Now, stop gawking and start up the engines."<br><br>"Right... about that..." The seafarer glanced over toward the motor.&nbsp; He went over and pulled on the rip-cord.&nbsp; At first it seemed like the engine was coming to life... but then it died.&nbsp; Several more attempts at starting up the motor ended with the same results.&nbsp; "We're gonna need to have it fixed.&nbsp; Again."<br><br>"Urgh... perfect," Machete sighed as he walked over to the oars.&nbsp; "Looks like we'll just have to do it the old fashioned way."<br><br>"Eh... at least we'll be able to use the water currents for the trip back home," The seafarer shrugged before grabbing the other oar.&nbsp; "We can also try out that sail I made for just this kind of occasion."<br><br>After setting off into the water and getting the sail set up so that they wouldn't have to row most of the way, Machete turned his attention back on Kriss.&nbsp; He glared at the deformed body that Kriss had become.&nbsp; He knew that the old Gray Bitch was still in there somewhere.&nbsp; He knew that there was still plenty of fight left in the warrior woman.&nbsp; It was just too bad that she was no longer in any condition to do any fighting of any kind.&nbsp; Scrounging around in the food supply, he pulled out a bottle of somewhat warm beer.&nbsp; After drinking half of it, he went over to Kriss and placed his hand on the back of her head.&nbsp; He then pressed the opening of the bottle against her lips before pouring the rest of the drink into her mouth.&nbsp; After that, he turned his attention toward the cross that dangled between Kriss's thighs.<br><br>It was at this point that Machete realized that the cross might be a clue as to who was responsible for cutting off Kriss's clit.&nbsp; It didn't necessarily point toward anyone who might've been responsible for the other inflicted injuries, but he supposed it was a good start for his vengeance plot.&nbsp; He could simply have someone ask around about anyone who might be missing a cross, especially one as valuable looking as this one.&nbsp; Reaching down, he held the cross in his hand and examined it a bit more closely.&nbsp; He then carefully removed it before pocketing it away.<br><br>Before reaching the shore of their own territory, Machete had given Kriss a drink from some bottled water.&nbsp; He also disinfected and re-bandaged Kriss's wounds using a first-aid kit they found in one of the many fall-out shelters that so many people made in preparation for the apocalypse, new and old (Machete smirked upon remembering the whole Y2K incident).&nbsp; Too bad most of them didn't work either because they were poorly constructed or because their owners couldn't get to them in time.&nbsp; In quite a few them of, they were even able to find working generators.&nbsp; They eventually turned one of the larger underground bunkers into their base of operations.&nbsp; It was one of those that was made in anticipation of that whole 2012 thing that never happened.&nbsp; Apparently, the owner of the bunker never quite got around to cleaning out the supplies and left decades work of canned food goodness for Machete's group to find.<br><br>There were plenty of stares that Kriss received from Machete's followers, though she probably would only realize this when some of them approach her to have a closer look.&nbsp; A few of them were even daring enough to reach out and grope at her breasts and buttocks.&nbsp; When they were met with Machete's infamous gaze, however, they backed off, though one of them chuckled and said, "Hey, we were only checking out her wounds, ya know.&nbsp; Figured maybe we could help."<br><br>"If you want to help, bring her over to the Doc's," Machete replied with a grunt before heading over to the Doc's place himself.&nbsp; He remembered first meeting the young doc, though she was only an intern working for an NGO before the whole world went to hell.&nbsp; Still, the results spoke for themselves.&nbsp; She adapted to the lack of sophisticated medical equipment and was able to make due with whatever spare scrap and junk the others had around.&nbsp; She had recently set up shop in one of the cleaner rooms in the abandoned underground bunker.<br><br>"Holy shit!" The young doctor exclaimed upon seeing Kriss's badly battered form.&nbsp; She stammered about and said, "Um... okay.&nbsp; I can work with this.&nbsp; Everyone except you four, out!&nbsp; Leave the yoke on for now.&nbsp; We can't have her thrashing around until we've done something about those fingers and jaw of hers.&nbsp; Oh, and before we even start, you guys are gonna have to scrub down.&nbsp; When's the last time you guys even took a fucking bath?!"<br><br>Under the direction of the Doc, two of them held down Kriss by pressing down on the yoke.&nbsp; The other two held down Kriss's body.&nbsp; As this went on, the Doc went to work on mending the broken finger bones and the jaw.&nbsp; There was also the matter of getting all those shards out of Kriss's pussy and ass, which she had to do with improvised rubber gloves.&nbsp; Sterilizing those gloves took longer than she had thought.&nbsp; Getting all that powdered glass out took even longer.&nbsp; Only after was the Doc finished that she permitted the others to start working on the Yoke.&nbsp; At first they attempted to use power tools and a car battery to do the job, but then the car battery ran out of juice about halfway through the long process.&nbsp; As they waited for the generator to charge up another car battery, they decided to take a break by sneaking in another closer look at Kriss's mangled body.
			</dd>
		</dl>
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