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.
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.
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
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.
'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.
