It was no good trying to find a less uncomfortable position. The best Krissy could do was shift her weight a little bit from one foot to the other every so often. The heavy iron frame they had her bound to wouldn’t permit any more movement than that. She stood with her hands up at the level of her head, trapped there in some sort of yoke. Black Velcro straps circled her wrists and her neck, keeping her arms in place. Her legs were spread, more Velcro straps circling her ankles. She was naked and on display, and there wasn’t a damned thing she could do about it. She couldn’t say anything about it either, because there was a hard rubber bit gag wedged between her jaws, held tightly in place. From time to time she couldn’t help dribbling a little onto her breasts.
She was in some new place. She was convinced of that, though she couldn’t be sure. After they had gang-raped her while she had that black bag over her head they had done something to her…drugged her, most likely. She had passed out and when she awoke again she was here. Wherever ‘here’ actually was, it felt completely different from the place she had been before. Most of it was cold stone and hard metal bars, steeped in decades of despair and shame. Then there were parts like this one, an elegant banquet hall, sumptuous, long, wide and high, tastefully lit and decorated, the sort of place where wealthy people would have elegant dinners just like the one going on right now, except for a few jarring notes.
First of all, the table where all the well-dressed men and women were seated was round, with a hollow area in the center. Krissy was in that hollow area, lashed to that barbaric frame, which was not only elevated enough to give the dinner party a clear view of her naked body, so that someone could see right up between her spread legs, but slowly rotating so that each and every guest could view Krissy from every side without having to get up from their chairs. It was humiliating being the centerpiece and feeling all those appraising stares roaming her body. Closing her eyes didn’t help. She could still feel their eyes, crawling over her flesh like loathsome bugs. What made it even worse, if that was possible, was that she hadn’t been fed today, and the wonderful aromas of steak and lobster and wine and all the rest tortured her constantly, making her stomach growl faintly. Closing her eyes didn’t alleviate that at all.
She wondered what was going on, and if they planned for her to provide further amusement after the dinner was ended. She could tell from the lustful looks of the men, and some of the women, seated around the table, that they were thinking about that possibility.
There were other captive women here besides her. All of them were blondes or redheads, all of them were at least a little younger than she was, while some were much younger. She saw them sometimes, when three or four of them were brought together and made to do yoga exercises under the watchful eye of a wizened old man who always carried a length of thin bamboo and never hesitated to use it on any woman not doing as she was told. They were not permitted to speak to each other. She heard them at other times, crying or screaming or begging somewhere nearby but out of sight. She was past the crying and the begging herself, and she only screamed when they did something particularly painful to her, which was not often. So long as she sucked cock when she was ordered, or submitted to being fucked when they wanted, she wasn’t treated too badly. But they always kept her naked, and they always looked at her with that stomach-turning lust in their eyes. After enduring those conditions for so long, it should be possible for her to find a way to live with it. But Krissy couldn’t. It all boiled down to her being a slave, kept solely for the sex that others could have with her, and the pleasure they could take from using her body, and whenever she thought about that she was struck with a dark and formless horror.
The iron frame rotated slowly. Krissy’s legs grew tired, her jaws ached from the bit gag stuffed in her mouth and she started to get hunger pains as the meal progressed. They would do something to her once it was over, she was sure. In the meantime, she would just have to endure the discomfort and the humiliation being inflicted on her.
The dinner guests were a mixed bag: Some seemed European, others Latino, African, Arab or Asian. The men all appeared to be rich and powerful, as did some of the women. The rest of the women looked like trophy girlfriends, and not all of them seemed to be comfortable sitting here while a naked woman was on such prominent display in front of them. Maybe they were wondering if their rich and powerful lovers would do the same to them one day.
A thought struck Krissy. What if one of those men had grown tired of his current trophy and wanted to dispose of her in some safe and private way? What better way to do that than leave her here to become another slave? Was that why some of the younger women seemed so ill at ease, because they had thought of the same thing themselves?
Unlike the variegated guests, the staff was all Oriental, with impassive faces and unreadable dark eyes. So were the guards and trainers at this place, which was one reason Krissy was sure that she had been taken someplace far, far away.
The dinner dragged on, at least from Krissy’s point of view. Sometimes she could see two of the men in close conversation, casting quick glances at her as they spoke, and she knew that they were talking about her, even if she couldn’t understand a word, if she happened to hear any.
The main course was taken away, to be replaced by dessert. It was some kind of light pastry, covered with whipped cream and drizzled with chocolate sauce. Krissy’s mouth watered when she saw it. She hadn’t had any of those things for so long! Her saliva dribbled down her chin and dripped onto her breasts. One of the men noticed her reaction and mockingly pretended to offer her some before scarfing it down himself with obvious relish. Krissy bit down on the hard rubber gag.
Finally came the coffee. Krissy couldn’t stand it. She hadn’t had any of that for what seemed like ages either, and it smelled so rich and so good. Oh, she was given food and drink, but always bland stuff or diluted fruit juice whenever it wasn’t plain water. The dinner had to be nearly over now, Krissy hoped. Her legs were starting to give her little twinges, which meant they were getting close to cramping up.
“Attention, please. Attention!” The voice was deep, speaking English-English, not American-English with more than a trace of some foreign accent. The guests all turned towards the source of that voice. Krissy had to wait until her rotating platform brought her around to see who it was. She had never seen the man before. He was another oriental, tall and heavily built, dressed in flowing red and yellow robes that made her think of China. With that, the rotating platform she was on came to a stop.