CHAPTER SIX
An attendant helped her off the table and to a toilet, removed the nozzle. She didn't have the strength to moan. She massaged her belly as best she could, still cuffed, pushing fluid from herself until she was finally emptied. Drained in more senses than one, she couldn't even stand on her own, and had to be propped against a wall beneath the shower heads. The attendant scrubbed her clean, hosed her off, dried her. Caressed her, in passing. Her breath caught.
He or she dressed her, after a fashion: A cape of some sheer material, draped across her shoulders and belted. High-heeled shoes with wide ankle straps. Nothing else. Thus clothed, she was led back to the office, where her tutor sat again behind his desk, holding a small rubber object.
"Sit."
It was not an invitation. She collapsed into the chair, still weak, only to jump up as her bruised, abused ass hit the seat. Without looking in his direction, she warily lowered herself. Spread her legs.
"I told you I'd have instructions. This is an anal plug. You will be wearing it for the next twenty-four hours. At this time tomorrow, you will again report to me here. You may not masturbate, nor allow yourself to be touched. Now, catch!” He threw the plug, which she caught awkwardly. Twice as large around as his finger, it seemed impossibly wide to her. The tip was rounded as a cock head, and there was a slight indentation near the bottom end. It lay heavy in her cuffed hands.
"Suck it."
Gulping, she obeyed, laving the horrid object with her tongue, layering it with saliva.
"Insert it."
She slid forward in the chair, wincing at the pain in her ass. Grasping the plug by the bottom, she placed it at her rear entrance, then paused. Looking pleadingly in his direction, she waited. No reprieve was spoken. Squealing even before she began to push, she inserted the plug completely. She felt the stretch, a fearful burning; the hateful clench as her body seized on the narrowest part as though to hold it in place.
The pain was almost welcome. It's unnatural. It should hurt. She refused to think of why she felt the need to tell herself any such thing, but looked to her tutor once she was sure it was all the way in.
"Good.” It was the first time he'd spoken that word to her; she was surprised at the leap of her heart. And her clit. “Sit up straight, please.” She complied, gingerly. Stretched around the plug, she felt each pulse of her heart in her sphincter. She supposed, dimly, that she ought to be grateful for the enema, if she was to be plugged for a day, but it seemed too much to ask of herself. She would have slumped in her chair, exhausted, but her rubber intruder kept her upright. She breathed shallowly, holding as still as could be.
"How does it feel?"
Too tired for indignation, she hissed. “I hate it. But you know that."
"Yes, I do.” He smiled like a cat. Not a Cheshire cat, a well-fed lion. “How does it feel?"
"Like a burning brand, how do you think?” She wanted to raise her voice, to shout, but had no energy left to fight. The thought of punishment was no deterrent now; she couldn't imagine that anything could be worse than crouching dog-fashion on a table while oceans of water pushed inside her. Remained inside her, washing away her strength. She had no fire left, she felt, it had all been soaked away.
"Still feisty? Perhaps you need another cleansing."
She gasped, shaking her head frantically, and began to stammer an apology. Not that! He held up a hand, and she ceased. Your place is to obey, she told herself. Do not push him.
"Come here."
She leapt up and toward him all in a single movement, fear lending her a bit of strength. At his direction, she stood, legs apart, and laboriously raised her bound hands above her head, then pushed them back behind her neck. Losing her balance on the heels, she fell back against the desk, sitting down hard. She whimpered.
"That will do.” He pushed her legs farther apart, forcing more weight down on her ass. The bruised flesh complained, but she was far more disturbed by the shifting of the plug within her. It pushed forward, against the flesh which formed a shared wall with her vagina. Disgusted as she was by the intrusion, still, it felt … good. Better than good.
Her legs were far enough apart now that her newly denuded crotch rubbed against the desk. Cool polished wood caressed her, and she rubbed herself against it, unconscious of the movement. He raised a brow, but did not move to stop her. She ground down; the motion caused the plug to move. She pushed harder.
"What are you doing?” He sounded faintly amused.
She inhaled sharply. “I-I am sorry. I-I don't know what happened. I just … was trying to find my balance."
"Really? And that's why my desk is slimy now?” He didn't sound amused any longer.
"Please. Please, I can't take any more. Get this thing out of me, please! I'll…” she trailed off. I'll do anything, she had been going to say, but she'd already made that promise, and here she was begging to break it. “I'm sorry, it's just too much.” She hung her head, ashamed. A failure already. Failing him.
"Lie back.” His voice was so soft, it took a moment for her to understand. “Feet on the table, here.” The straps on the heels had a purpose, she realized. He fastened her down, spread wide; arms cuffed behind her head, she was opened to whatever whim might strike him. At least he won't be putting things up my ass. She smiled bleakly.
"Just this once,” he whispered in her ear. He sat in his chair, reached out a single hand, and stroked her clit. Nothing more was needed; she came instantly. The orgasm pulsed through her system, radiating out from her core. She was shocked by its intensity, its duration. Its focus. Her body clenched around the plug, caressing, welcoming.
Disgust, and shame, and pain, and pleasure. All at once. She wept, and begged for more.
"Not now. Go to lunch, go to your classes. I'll see you tomorrow.” He released her, helped her to stand. She walked to the door in a daze. Had an attendant not met her in the hall, she would have gone to lunch still cuffed and dressed in nothing but a cape and heels. And anal plug, of course.
* * * *
Carolyn felt like a stranger in her own body. Stretched around an anal plug-disgusting thing, she thought-newly cleansed by a painful enema session, glowing with aftershocks of a glorious orgasm, and primed for many more. Her ass ached; sitting was torture. The plug shifted with her every moment, and she could not remain still. What was happening to her?
"Punishment drill, eh?” A vaguely familiar-looking student leaned across the table, looked deep into her face, and nodded. She poured a glass of water. “Here, drink this. You probably need it.” Carolyn nodded her thanks, unable to find words. “It gets easier, or you get used to it, or something. Have you eaten today?” Carolyn shook her head, uncertain. What day is it? she wondered, but could not gather the strength to ask. The other woman rose from the table, appearing again in a moment with a mug of creamy soup. “Easier than solids. Go on, take it.” She folded Carolyn's hands around the cup, waiting until Carolyn took a sip to return to her seat.
Carolyn managed to drink the soup, and found the strength thereafter to nibble a bit of bread. Her companion nodded encouragement and introduced herself. Sherry was a redhead with the characteristic peaches and cream complexion of an English countrywoman and breasts like pillows stretching her shirt. A junior, she was eager to be “out in the world,” though she planned to return from time to time. “To keep my hand in, don'cha know,” she laughed. She smiled a lot, and Carolyn found herself grinning in return. Reaching for a roll, Sherry's shirt gapped open, a button slipped free of its buttonhole.