"Please, no,” she whispered.
He paid no heed, not even to admonish her for speaking out of turn. Firmly, he pressed in, his finger so much larger than her own. First knuckle, second, third, all in a single push.
She couldn't breathe. Impaled on his digit, she gasped, hating the clench of her sphincter around him, body weak from strain and punishment, and seconds away from orgasm. Her thighs were wet, heart racing. Each heartbeat tightened her around him. She began to cry.
He pulled his finger from her, turned away. Snapping, he brought the attendant closer, and gave instructions. “Bathe her, shave her cunt, then call me.” The attendant nodded, reached out, and grabbed her nipple in a gloved hand. Gasping, she straightened with the tug, and was led from the room. Her only thought was panicked. He didn't give me permission to leave! But the pain was too great to resist.
It was a large chamber, unlike anything she had ever seen. There were shower heads mounted at odd levels, a hot tub large enough for a football team with seating at several heights, bidets, toilets, oddly-canted tables and things she could not begin to classify. She was led painfully to something much like a kiddy-pool, with manacles hanging above. Exhausted from her recent ordeal, she found it difficult to raise her arms long enough to be fastened, but a sharp twist and tug on her abused nipple lent her strength. Her attendant was joined by another, also robed and masked and gloved, and the two cleaned her as thoroughly and impersonally as possible. She gasped as water was forced into her vagina, but it did not linger long enough to bring her much pleasure. She sighed as her breasts were laved, soothing the burn left by the stone to which she'd so recently been bound, but her nipples were in no way stroked. She'd been thoroughly depilated on her arrival, all except a triangle of glossy hair, which the attendants now removed with a straight razor. It was waved before her eyes to encourage her to be still; she was. When they had finished, they left her there, naked as a child, alone, wrists fastened above her. Afraid. Aching. Ashamed. And aroused.
It wasn't really cold in the room, merely a bit cool to be standing around unclothed. Carolyn shivered, making the chains above her rattle. The sound echoed in the tiled room. She shifted her weight slightly, trying to relieve the strain, and that sound, too, bounced off the walls. Each sigh seemed louder than the last.
There's nothing to be afraid of, she told herself. No one here to punish you, to inflict pain. Enjoy the break! It failed to convince. She was chained, helpless. Anyone could come in, do whatever they pleased to her. Just like the rest of this place. Physical chains are nothing. Accept what is, and endure.
Shifting her weight again, she closed her legs, opening them the instant she realized what she had done. “The legs are to remain open at all times, seated or standing or lying down. This signifies accessibility and obedience.” She whispered the words aloud, one of many commands she had been required to memorize. Thinking through them all, murmuring softly, so as not to cause more echoes, she was not immediately aware that she was no longer alone.
He stood before her, studying the scene; she followed his glance as best she could. Clean, newly shaven, faint marks of stone burn on her stomach and thighs, deeper on her breasts. Her knees were faintly bruised. Behind, her ass bright red and bruise-dark, two blotches nearly black with blood. She winced at what she could see-the pain seemed suddenly worse, as though the sight made it somehow more real-and wondered if she'd ever be able to sit down again.
Moving to the wall, he turned a dial. The chains descended from the ceiling; her arms dropped before her. Detaching the bracelets from the chain, he pulled her by the cuffs to a metal table. Patted it, as he would a chair, inviting a pet to jump up.
Wearily, she clambered to the top. He fastened the cuffs to the head of the table. When she tried to lie flat, he smacked her ass. She squeaked her pain, but remained still, awkwardly kneeling forward. He bent her elbows, allowing her to take some of her weight on her forearms. Her knees he fastened to the sides of the table, just enough wider than her hips to be uncomfortable, but not enough to be truly painful. She hung her head, almost too tired to be afraid.
"I owe you a correction,” he said, as if continuing a conversation, “but it will have to wait. You are to be cleansed now; after, I will have instructions for you. I know this will be difficult for you, but it will go easier if you relax.” There were sounds, as of wheels on a floor, soft squirts, a susurration. A cold pressure at her anus.
"No!” She gasped, a rejection, a plea. Her head turned back to him. “Please, no more. I can't.” Crying again.
He smiled. “That's two.” A pinch to her beaten ass made her breath catch, and she subsided. “You can do anything I tell you to. Your place is to obey."
Distantly, she wondered how much time had passed, how much longer she had to stay in this place, how many months she had been in chains. Though she could not remember sleep or food since waking in the dormitory, it seemed weeks had passed since then. How long was I on the rock? she wondered. How long in this room?
A probing at her sphincter, cold, slick. Thinner than her finger, it slipped in, she objecting to the intrusion but making no outcry. Then warmth inside her. Oddly pleasant at first; she had been chilled. Pressure came, high in her gut, making her moan. She did not understand what was happening. A greater pressure, and a gurgling noise from inside her. “Ow,” she whispered, knowing it was not permitted, wishing instead to scream. “Mm.” She felt like a balloon, stretching around something. Craning her head around, she could see a pole, and a tube. Looking down, she tried to see between her legs, but her stomach, large as a pregnant woman's, blocked her sight. An enema!
She was aghast, horrified, but not surprised. She had heard they were not supposed to hurt, but had never believed that, anyway. This hurt. She felt she would explode, but knew he would not allow that. The point was pain, or humiliation, or maybe simply cleanliness. Death was no part of the bargain she had made.
The pressure seemed to level off, then returned with greater force. She whined, pushing back against the hose, but could not force it out. Panting, she felt waves moving inside her, heard sloshing, and then the pain lessened.
"The nozzle's a special design,” he said calmly. “Hurts a bit coming out, but you can take it. This way, you can do the cleansing and the retention all at once. I'll be back in twenty.” He patted her on a bruised cheek, and left the room. The tears flowed in waves like the pain.
He returned, eventually, and did something which tilted the table. Frantic, she grasped the edge with her cuffed hands. She felt like she was going to fall off, her knees spread wide, no way to grasp with her feet, her center of gravity pulling her back toward nothing but air. Holding herself up as best she could, she barely heard his words. “I'm going to pull the plug now, and you're going to release the fluid. I want you to push it all out, you hear?” He didn't wait for a response, just yanked the nozzle from her body.
She shrieked at the new pain, and a rush of foul-smelling liquid rushed from her body. Straining, she pushed, spewing more and more. How much had she held? She could still feel some. And the stench! He reached around her and massaged her left side. More fluid escaped. Finally, when nothing more would come, he hosed her off with soapy water, and leveled the table again.
"Round two,” he said quietly as he reinserted the nozzle. She lost her temper all at once-all her pain and fear and disgust and frustration boiling up from somewhere before she had any idea what she really felt-and began to scream curses at him. “And that's three.” He started the flow of solution, asked one question, and left the room. It was a long time before the fluid stopped flowing into her, and even longer before she stopped crying. His words echoed in her mind, unforgettable, undeniable. “Your cunt is dripping, did you know?"PAGEBREAK