Discovery · Part 2 (2/2)
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tunity had presented itself, and the knowing I’d missed what might be my only chance would have been unbearable. I sat impatiently, wondering why they would put me in here; the steamy warmth was pleasant against my naked skin, and now I had time to think, to compose myself and come up with a plan… How had I gotten in that car, and what did the Mystery Bitch want with me? More importantly, how would I get free?
Shafts of hot, thick steam flowed up through the vents as I considered, and the warmth was quickly becoming unpleasant. Soon I started sweating, and my thoroughly scoured skin began stinging from the salt. Worse though, the steam was so thick it was difficult to breathe. I began panting, open mouthed like a dog, the air now so thick and wet I was sure I was more likely to drown than to get enough oxygen to sustain me. All thoughts vanished from my mind, save one: air, breathe, need air!
I barely registered it when I was wheeled out of the room, what seemed like days later. The cool air hit me and I gulped it in like a fish being dropped into water. I was sweat-soaked and boneless, and when they untied me all I could do was slide helplessly to the tiled floor of a room that looked much like a large shower. The cuffs on my wrists and ankles were quickly attached by short chains to bolts in the floor, which were positioned to allow for a kneeling position. I had carefully lifted myself into a sitting position when suddenly I was assaulted with a spray of lukewarm water. After the interminable heat the water felt cold, and soon I was shivering and struggling against my bonds.
“There now, wasn’t that refreshing?” Came the hated, honeyed voice. For the first time, I was able to turn my head and view my captor in full. If I didn’t despise her, I would have thought she was beautiful. She was tall, still in stilettos that accented long graceful legs leading up to a tasteful, professional skirt. An athletic figure with luscious hips and a trim waist was complemented by a thick black belt with three buckles over a flowing white top. Her sable hair was held back in a businesslike bun, and rich red lips and dusky shadow set off her perfect olive skin and lustrous amber eyes. “Yes, a fresh start, cleansed from the inside out is just what you needed. And what better way to cleanse than with your welcome toast?”
She snapped her fingers at the door, summoning a new minion. A male figure appeared in the door, hulking and clad only in a black scrap of a loin cloth and matching cloth hood, almost executioner-style. Still somewhat befuddled from my recent travails, I could only stare as I tried to work out what was about to happen to me. She trailed one finger down his muscled chest and the catlike grin returned. “Yes, pretty isn’t he?” My eyes widened and I choked on my breath, gasping as I began fighting my chains with everything I had left.
“ENOUGH!” She boomed as she slapped my ass, hard, commanding my attention. “You’re going to hurt yourself, and he’s not here for That. You’ll have to ask nicely if you want That.” She paused, “Very nicely…” Her voice trailed off and she smiled again as she considered the prospect. I didn’t trust her, but it seemed clear to me that she had a detailed plan for me, which she intended to follow to the letter. If she said rape wasn’t part of it (at least at this point), I thought it likely the truth. And she was right- my abraded back had begun hurting again and I’d caught one wrist painfully hard on the cuff. I shook it out as much as I could, giving a huff and glaring at her. In my mind I hurled foul insults at her, but I wasn’t stupid enough to say them aloud.
“Much better,” she nodded. “Proceed, Maslin.” The hulk moved around me and produced something like a tiny sawhorse padded with rubber. He placed it beneath me, latching the legs to catches in the floor designed to immobilize it. One by one, he extended each leg, until it pushed against my chest and my hands just barely remained flat on the floor. He continued to push the rear up a few more notches so I was on my tip toes in a downward dog position. I tried to struggle, thinking the bitch had had lied to me after all, but once again I was fully immobilized.
“And now for that champagne I promised you, my sweet!” She intoned in a mocking voice. I felt her hands graze the cleft of my ass, smearing something warm and gooey. “Stop!” I screeched out. “Stop, you filthy cu-“ Maslin casually backhanded me in the face before squeezing my cheeks hard. Before I could recover, he had caught my tongue and was expertly threading it into the center of a narrow three-piece vise, with my lower lip following into the bottom vise and my upper lip into the top. He tightened the bolts sharply with a huff of satisfaction, leaving my protruding tongue and lips tightly trapped and making me incapable of anything more than throaty grunts.
“Ah-ah dear,” the honey-voiced bitch admonished, ”you’ll find that all my creatures are fiercely loyal to me, and they don’t appreciate hearing me spoken of in such coarse language. And how are we supposed to celebrate your arrival when you’re being so rude?” She questioned in a lighthearted voice. “I suppose I can’t blame you for being nervous,” she continued, “we are giving you a whole new life after all! Here, look dear, nothing to be afraid of. And it’s easier if you don’t fight…”
She held a pear shaped plug out for my inspection, slathering it with lube while I grunted protestations and sobbed. “It’s special, you see?” She continued, tilting the top towards me so I could see the narrow hole running through the center. She returned to my rear, humming happily as she inserted the plug into my ass. It wasn’t too painful- she’d lubed it well and I’d done a bit of experimenting before, though I didn’t find it to my taste.
“Maslin, the champagne, if you will,” she called in a singsong voice. I could hear Maslin step out of the room, returning with a bottle of champagne. He stepped in front of me, pulling a pair of champagne flutes and a pitcher from a cabinet on the wall. She was fiddling with something at my rear; having arranged whatever it was to her liking, she moved beside Maslin and pulled a third flute from the cabinet, setting it down beside the first two. “Go ahead and pour yourself a glass too dear,” she invited, gracious in her glee. He carefully filled the three flutes and passed one to her respectfully before quaffing his own glass in a single gulp.
“Brute,” she shook her head with amusement, “why do I waste nice things on you? Ah well, see to our guest.” He unceremoniously dumped the remainder of the champagne into the pitcher, topping it off with water so it was about a half-and-half mixture. He picked up the third flute of champagne and the pitcher before moving behind me. I glanced back to see Maslin raising a funnel with a tube connected to the plug in my ass. He caught my eye, and I was certain he was smiling beneath his hood.
“Cheers!” Called the honeyed voice as Maslin poured the flute of champagne into the funnel. I watched the golden liquid begin its descent down the clear tube, the occasional bubbles slowing its pace. I shuddered and moaned as it entered me, cold and tingling. My insides spasmed in protestation of the invasion, but a single flute was only a few ounces which soon warmed, easing the cramps. I was beginning to feel a little light headed from my ordeal. And, like as not, from the alcohol. One glass of champagne wasn’t much when consumed through the mouth and filtered through the stomach and liver, but it’s effects were considerably stronger having bypassed those obstructions. My eyes begged for mercy, and I issued an unintelligible, guttural plea, my tongue and lips gone numb in their clamps.
“Yes, it’s quite good, isn’t it? I bet you’d like some more, wouldn’t you?” I shook my head and moaned again. She nodded to Maslin, who began slowly pouring the mixture in the pitcher into my funnel. She watched a moment before her gaze returned to my face. “Oh, you poor thing! Your lips are blue! Let me help you!” A rush of blood poured into my lips and tongue as she loosened the vises and removed the gag.
It was at once painful and a relief, and it distracted me from the building pressure in my rear. “There now that’s better, isn’t it?” She asked. My lips and tongue felt hot and fat and sore, and I didn’t seem to have any control over them. She continued, “now you can enjoy your champagne!” Maslin was pouring the last drops into the tube. For a mercy, the water he’d mixed in was warm, so although my stomach was uncomfortably full and I felt ready to burst, I wasn’t experiencing the painful cramps that had accompanied the ice cold champagne I had been initiated with.
“Yes, I think you should be able to enjoy it for oh, say fifteen minutes? Yes, that should do nicely.” I glared at her and cursed her “Uk-oo!” She pretended not to hear, pulling a stool close to my face and placing a timer upon it. “Fifteen minutes,” she said sternly, “and an hour in the steam room for every minute short of that.” I gasped; one hour was torture, any more would be unthinkable. Her catlike smile returned as she floated towards the door, “and you might watch that mouth. Maslin is quite sensitive, you know.”
The door shut behind her, leaving me alone with Maslin and the timer. He stood cross armed in the corner, while I stared at the timer. Fifteen minutes wasn’t that long at all, really- I’d be fine. The door cracked open again and Her voice floated in, “Don’t forget, Maslin…” He grunted acknowledgement and leaned towards me, deftly plucking the plug from my rear. “Fugg!” I squealed as I squeezed my ass hard before a drop could spill. Maslin administered a solid slap, and my stomach gurgled with the impact. “Ahh, thit!“ Another slap. “Pleathe, I’m thorry!” I begged, speaking around my still swollen tongue. It was much harder to maintain my hold on my bowels without the aid of the plug. I looked back at the timer: only three minutes had passed. I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing.
Once it was under control, I decided to take stock of myself, wiggling each toe and finger, running my mind along my scoured skin to determine if I had any deeper cuts, carefully avoiding thinking about my stomach or ass. I peeked at the timer; I was at barely five minutes now. “Oh God, please!” I gasped before I could stop myself. I squeezed my eyes shut and braced for another smack. After a moment, I peeked over my shoulder. Apparently it was acceptable to speak, just not to curse or speak ill of my captors. “Focus, you can do this…” I told myself aloud. More than a little drunk now, I added in my own singsong voice, “Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming…”
I couldn’t take it anymore. “Please, Maslin, please just let me go!” I begged to no avail. I was still less than ten minutes into my trial, and my stomach was beginning to rebel. “Please, you don’t even have to let me go, just let me get rid of this!” He looked me in the eye and cocked his head to the ground. “No, no, please, if you let me up and don’t tell your mistress, I’ll… I’ll do anything. Please!” He gave the slightest shake of his head, and his implacable calm infuriated me. “You big, dumb brute! You stupid fuck! Go shove-“ he interrupted me with one hard smack on the ass, then pressed his hand to the small of my back. The pressure on my stomach was excruciating. “Please, please, I’m sorry! I won’t say another word!” After another minute of begging, he relented and resumed his cross-armed post in the corner.
Tears streamed down my face as I returned my gaze to the timer. I had less than five minutes to go, and I would make it, I resolved. I watched the seconds tick down, consoling myself with imagining how I’d return the favor to that bitch if I ever got the chance. Finally, I was down to the last minute- in torment and fighting for every second, but certain now that I’d make it. I turned to look at Maslin, giving him a fierce, triumphant smile as I thought to myself, “Fuck You, Asshole!” He watched me a moment, then his eyes quirked upwards as he reached out and gently brushed his hand first along my side, then between my stomach and the sawhorse. I instinctively jerked away, but the unexpected distraction and the sudden motion made me lose my tenuous grip on my bowels. I burned with shame as I heard the door opening.
“Oh dear, such a disappointment!” Came the honeyed voice, filled with far more amusement than disappointment. “Ah well, clean her up, and then back to the steam room it is.” She departed again, leaving Maslin to hose me off. I was almost grateful when he held the hose to my mouth, allowing my abused tongue and parched throat a moment of respite. Then he moved behind me with it and returned the funnel plug to my ass, filling me and emptying my bowels twice more before he was satisfied. He turned up the pressure, spraying me and the sawhorse and the floor until everything was spotless.
After lowering the legs of the sawhorse and disconnecting it from the floor, he pushed my convertible chair into place behind me. He released the floor chains connected to my wrist cuffs, holding my arms securely in his steely grip, and stood me up before pushing me back into the chair. I took the opportunity to spit in his face. There was no reaction, and for a moment I thought the brute hadn’t even registered it.
He continued to clip my cuffs into place on the chair, carefully wiped the gob from his face and proceeded to shove it up my nose with an upward swipe, clamping my mouth shut while I sputtered and snorted. It burned my nostrils and I thought I might choke. I told myself it was worth it, but as I gasped for breath I wasn’t quite sure.
Once my ankle cuffs were secured to the chair he proceeded to wheel me back to the steam room, fresh tears and my own spit dripping down my face, as I wondered what fresh torments might await me after this second round of “ritual cleansing.”
Discovery · Part 2 (2/2)
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