But it could be worse...
Hold on tight
It's a strange experience, hanging by
the ankles. The blood rushes to the head, but not so fast as to be a
problem. I read somewhere that you can hang for hours without any
serious problems. That's not the issue.
It's not being bound, having nice
sturdy leather cuffs around my ankles, almost like a pair of boots up
to my knees, holding me and distributing my weight so it doesn't feel
like my bones are going to pop. It's not about the cuffing of my
wrists in front of me, just inches away from my cock, where I could
play with it if I wanted to. The only force I'd have to fight is
gravity. If I let go, my arms drop up above my head, but holding them
by my waist isn't hard.
I don't mind being naked. It's not the
first time, and certainly won't be the last. I don't mind that the
only things I'm wearing are the various tools of my incarceration;
like I said, that's pretty normal. I know it's a far cry from what
most people would call normal. But normal is relative.
The part that's weird, the part that
makes the experience weird even for me, is the tube shoved into my
ass. I think I know what it means, but I really hope I'm wrong.
“You've been such a dirty slut
lately,” she says, and my hopes begin to first crystallize, then
shatter on the hard edge of her voice. “You need to get clean. From
the inside out.”
I feel the warm water. It's a strange
experience when an enema begins, the water flowing out of nowhere. Unless it's near scalding temperature, it feels cold, so much colder
than the ninety eight degrees of the human body. Too cold and it can
cause shivers or even damage. Too hot can be just as bad. But this is
neither. A nice gentle temperature, colder than my inside so I feel
the water flowing into me, but not so cold as to actually hurt.
More and more floods inside my ass. It
always feels like there's more going in than could possibly fit, like
my stomach is filling up, a balloon that will surely pop if she
pushes any more inside. Of course, right when I feel full to
bursting, she says those three evil words. “Half way done.”
She says it with such cheer that her
giggle drowns out my groan. More flows in, I moan, and she laughs.
“Did you know that your body absorbs
an enema, given enough time?” she says. “I could put some vodka
in there, and you would get so trashed, you wouldn't even know it. It
would be like I had doped you up or something. Does it bother you
that I have that kind of control?”
“No mistress,” I say. “I give my
control willingly.”
“Yes you do, don't you?” She pats
my thigh with a bit of affection, then calls me a slut under her
breath. She squeezes the bag, and a rush of water comes in.
I feel it seeping into my insides,
pulling loose every bit, flooding every nook and cranny of my
insides. She's pushing the water in, and the water is dissolving the
holds I have on myself.
Finally, she stops. Finally, I feel
the water stop, feel the hose pull out of my ass with a pop. I feel
my stomach gurgle, and I feel the urge for that enema to get out of
me.
“The reason I told you about this,”
she says, stepping down and coming to stand in front of me, “is so
that you know there is hope. Hope that maybe you can hold it long
enough. If enough time passes, your body will absorb every bit of it.
It'll keep you hydrated. The cramping will go away. Do you feel the
cramping?”
I nod, which sets me swinging a
little. My stomach wants to push itself out, but I want to hold it
all in. That enema isn't coming out alone. And gravity will make sure
that whatever else comes will come slithering down my skin.
Maybe get in my hair.
“It'll drip all the way down,” she
says, reading my mind. “If you lighten up even a little, if the
tension in your little bit gets too weak, it'll come gushing out.
You'll be as dirty on the outside as you are on the inside.
Absolutely disgusting. And then it'll get all over my nice clean
floor. You wouldn't want my floor to get dirty, would you?”
“No mistresss.” my voice is
already starting to show the strain. My stomach is already starting
to ache, my ass is already as tight as I can make it.
“Good boy,” she says. She steps
around so I can see her. Looking down, I see her smirking face.
Looking up, I see her boots standing on the tile floor, the leather
shining in the light of the room. She's so close I can see the scuff
marks around the toes where she has been walking, the scrapes around
the heel, the little bits of dirt and dust that comes with a pair of
well worn boots. I let my eyes travel down the length of the boots,
following the curve of skin at her knees, the bare patch of thigh,
and I moan softly.
She laughs as I almost relax, as
everything almost spills out of me.
“Careful, pet,” she says, the
warning almost lost in the laughter. “You have to concentrate.”
Then she runs a finger down my face
and draws my attention back to where I was looking. Back to her
thigh. Back to her waist, and to the leather rig waiting there.
Strapped on tight, buckles shining and leather stretched with good
use. My eyes follow to where her cock, firm and rubber, stares down
at me. It won't go soft, she won't cum in my mouth. She won't get
tired, she won't get sore. She's there and can fuck my mouth as much
as she wants.
And I just have to focus.
Focus.
“It won't be all bad,” she says.
“You'll at least have something to pay attention to. Something to
help you pass the time.” She caresses my face. “I don't know how
long it takes for the enema to fully be absorbed. But I'm guessing
it'll get easier as time goes by.”
The pain in my stomach increases,
making her words a hollow lie.
“Eventually, that is.” She laughs.
My thoughts must be written on my face.
“So come on, open that pretty mouth
of yours. Separate those beautiful cock sucking lips for me. Let me
slide my cock in, let me fuck your face while you focus on keeping
your ass nice and tight. Just try not to worry about me, try to
relax. Don't fight. Just let me fuck your face.” She taps the tip
of her cock on my lips, then laughs again.
“You can always just let go,” she
says, stepping closer still. “The only person that's going to get
dirty is you. And you can clean the floor when I let you down. It's
not going to stain anything. You'll get to see just how filthy of a
slut you really are, but there won't be any kind of permanent damage.
The smell won't even stick around. I've got all kinds of cleaning
products.”
She presses her cock to my lips,
slowly guiding it into my throat. I close my eyes, focusing on
keeping that enema inside, focusing on the pain rather than ignoring
it, using the pain to keep me tight, to keep it inside.
“Of course, now that I'm so close,
there's a chance that some of it will get on my boots.” she sighs.
“My lovely boots, all covered with your filth. That would be a
shame, wouldn't it?” She pushes her cock a bit deeper into my
mouth, and I whimper.
“I suppose I'll probably have to
throw them away. How could I keep them after all your disgusting
insides get all over them? It wouldn't be safe. Wouldn't be
sanitary.” She pushes her cock in, then slides it out a little. She
pushes it in again, a bit harder. “I know these are your favorites
too. You love the way these ones taste, don't you? You told me you
do. Well, they won't taste good anymore.” She begins a slow rhythm,
pushing her cock down my throat, holding me in place while she fucks
me. I can feel myself shaking, feel the pressure of the enema. She
isn't helping.
She's not trying to.
“Do you love them enough to see if
that's true?” she asks. “Would you lick them clean for me even
after your shit courses over them? After you let out your enema,
after it flows down your skin, down your back, down your head. After
it drips down onto my boots. Would you still lick them clean? Are
they that important to you?
“I know they're your favorite.”
She shoves her cock hard down my throat. “You told me they were.
You weren't lying, were you?”
She twists one of my nipples, and I
grimace. I feel something slowly dripping down my back. I hope it's
sweat. A slow trickle of liquid.
Please be sweat.
“Then you'll have to prove it,”
she says. “I mean, I wouldn't expect you to lick just any old pair
of boots clean, if they'd been caught up in your pathetic inability
to hold an enema. I wouldn't be upset if you refused to do that with
another pair. But these are your favorite, aren't they? You'd do that
for your favorites.
“You're going to have to.
“Unless, of course, you can keep
your slutty ass tight and closed, for once in your life.”
She laughs at me and begins pounding
away at my face. “But how likely is that, really?”
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