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When I shouted at her to stop she slapped my face hard.She put a gag on my mouth and pulled the back of the chair forwards making it topple over. I had noticed the hole in the seat of the chair before I sat down, and I had wondered what it was for. She called out for her minder,Charles. She never met without him,but he always stayed outside the room where she had her play area.Charles was a big African guy.Thick accent, big muscular arms. Quiet type.She told him to put me in position. He maneuvered me so I was on my knees,still tied to the chair. She told him to sit in front of me,watching.She wet her finger in front of me then disappeared behind me.I felt her rub my ass. Charles just sat there quietly,watching. I shouted a muffled no.If she understood,she didn't stop.She rubbed my ass harder.I could see Charles put his big hand on the growing bulge form in his trousers.I was mortified,humiliated.Then her finger entered my ass.I screamed,a muffled scream.Not in pain,but in protest.My. An overweight man, picking his nose. Children crying and asking for things they’d been taught to want. Their parent’s, merely older credit-card- carrying caricatures. Each scene was punctuated by a chorus of canned laughter. The city portrayed was as faceless as any other, the same global-franchises with contemporary office-blocks doing their dance of efficiency upon the sepulchres of the resident architecture. The footage was carefully choreographed, so as to not have any readily identifiable signs or images A music store window, poster-tiled to infinity with the blonde embodiment of keen market research. Drivers swearing at drivers swearing. Liquid rainbows slipping down drains, to be of no thought or consequence again. A laden pram probing the traffic like some absent-minded insect. The images flashed by, quicker and quicker, to the point of subliminality. The laughter sped too, and became a howl. A white screen, and silence. A grassed field greened the screen, with the distant.
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