Chapter 3: The Throne of Humiliation
The dream didn’t start with a fade-in.It seized her. One moment, Kim was staring at her own tired eyes in her bathroom mirror after practice, and the next, her cheek was crushed against the icy, unforgiving porcelain of a toilet base. The smell hit her first—antiseptic cleaner undercut by something darker, muskier. Her wrists were bound behind her back with familiar, humming bands of emerald energy.She tried to move, and the cuffs tightened, biting into her skin.
“Good.You’re awake.”
Shego’s voice was a lazy purr from above. Kim’s gaze, blurred by tears of shock and humiliation, traveled up the long, powerful legs clad in black leather. Shego was standing over her, one booted foot planted on the rim of the toilet, her other leg straddling Kim’s head. The view was deliberate, obscene: the black fabric of her shorts stretched taut, the intimate shadow beneath them.
“You remember the rules, Kimmie,” Shego said, her tone conversational, as if discussing the weather. “You’re my little drain. And drains stay open.”
Kim’s heart hammered against her ribs.This was worse than the shower.This was tangible, inescapable. The cold floor, the binding energy, Shego’s overwhelming presence—it was all terrifyingly real. A whimper escaped her lips before she could choke it back.
“Open,” Shego commanded, her voice dropping, losing its sarcastic edge and gaining pure authority.Kim’s jaw trembled. She tried to shake her head, a feeble, pathetic motion. Shego’s hand came down, not in a slap, but to grip her chin with frightening strength, forcing her mouth open. “Wider.”
Tears spilled over as Kim obeyed, her mouth stretching into a vulnerable O. She stared up into Shego’s face, into those cold, amused eyes. The villainess adjusted her stance slightly, her fingers hooking into the waistband of her shorts.There was no ceremony, no further warning. A soft, hissing sound began, and then the warm stream struck the center of Kim’s tongue.It was profoundly alien. The warmth, the faint, acrid saltiness, the sheer intimacy of the violation flooded her senses. She gagged immediately, her body convulsing, but the cuffs held her firm, and Shego’s grip on her chin was iron. The stream was forceful, filling her mouth, splashing over her lips, her nose, running in hot rivulets down her cheeks.
“Swallow,” Shego ordered, her voice thick with a dark pleasure.
Kim choked, trying to breathe, but the liquid kept coming, an endless, humiliating fountain. Her throat worked reflexively, a desperate, animal survival instinct, and she swallowed a mouthful.It was warm and slightly bitter.The taste of submission.Of utter defeat.
When the stream finally trickled and stopped, Kim was gasping, sputtering, her face soaked, her mouth tasting of Shego’s body.She felt broken.Used.
Shego let go of her chin and casually reached down, using a handful of Kim’s vibrant red hair to wipe herself. Kim flinched at the rough tug, at the dampness now smeared in her hair. “Better than toilet paper,” Shego mused, stepping back. She looked down at the small puddle on the polished marble floor.“Clean it up.With your tongue. Every drop.”
The energy cuffs dragged Kim forward, her body moving against her will.Her nose was inches from the liquid.