This choice: Emma works the machine, until she becomes breathless. • Go Back...Chapter #5Emma works the machine, until she becomes breat... by: Mr. George   As she worked the machine. Emma found it was impossible to stop the repetitions. Her hands felt glued in place. Her arms forced to pull, even when she was exhausted. Even while she thought she couldn't manage. Sweat poured into her eyes. She wanted to cry out, but was too freaked out, and didn't want to voice her fear. Afraid if she did she'd never be able to stop...
The relentless clash of the weights, as they smacked down time after time was the only company she had. As she was forced onward, her muscles ached, loosened. She felt her rump ripple more and more with each repetition. Her arms quaked from the strain, her hands still refused to release the bar, or even stop the exhausting action.
Looking around, when the bar was low, she caught sight of the doorway. Before her arms surrendered, and the weights crashed down, once more. Surely one of her friends would investigate the noise. As she heaved the bar down again, she caught sight of her hips, and rump.
They looked fuller, covering more of the bench. Maybe, the exhaustion was making her imagine it.
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Her tiny elbows, and stick thin arms seemed to be hitting her thighs now. Unsure if she was pulling harder, or forcing the bar lower. She estimated it, after two more arm jarring clashes. It was definitely looking fuller.
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Emma mewling cries died in her throat... Her hips were far wider, undeniably so... This house was tormenting her personally. It knew her fears, and made them manifest. She shook her head in denial, as she was forced to continue... again and again...
Fear warbled, as she took in the full damage...
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Her ass was positively equine, in it's fullness. Just as she was surrendering, the machine released her to collapse to the floor. Arms quivering, refused to rise as they hung limply at her side. She rose to race to the door, her hips rolling, her ass rippling and rolling like they never had before. She was mortified, her hands refused to rise to the door handle, refused to grip it.
Summoning her last reserves, as she contemplated using her teeth to hold, and turn the handle. She managed to turn it. The door opened half an inch allowing her to kick it wider and flee her torture chamber.  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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