Chapter 11: The Degradation Ritual
Steam coiled off the mineral-rich water, thick with the scent of sulfur, clinging to Betty’s skin as she lay utterly still on the submerged rock ledge. The hot spring bubbled around her naked body, the heat a stark contrast to the cool mountain air on her face. Mri had positioned her perfectly: flat on her back, head pillowed on a smooth stone just above the waterline, breasts breaking the surface like pale islands, belly and hips submerged, legs spread wide and bent at the knees, her glistening pussy exposed just beneath the shimmering, opaque water. "Hold," Mri commanded softly, his voice cutting through the steam as he placed a small wooden platter laden with sliced fruit directly onto her stomach, the cool wood pressing into her damp skin.
Roger shifted uneasily on a nearby rock, his own beer bottle sweating in his hand, the scene both horrifying and illicitly thrilling. Bill Henderson, Carl Davies, and Mark Stevens grinned like wolves, already half-drunk on the free-flowing whiskey Mri provided. "Best damn table service I've ever seen," Henderson chuckled, leaning forward to spear a piece of melon from the platter balanced on Betty’s belly, juice dribbling down her navel and mixing with the spring water. Davies dipped his fingers into a bowl of oily olives resting precariously on Betty’s inner thigh, dangerously close to her exposed sex. "Gotta keep the snacks handy, eh Rog?" Davies smirked, popping an olive into his mouth, his knuckles brushing her wet folds.
Betty kept her eyes fixed on the canopy of pines overhead, breathing shallowly through her nose, the humiliation of the conference room floor a raw, fresh wound. Mri placed a small bowl of warm dip strategically between her breasts. Stevens immediately scooped a cracker through it, smearing a dollop onto her nipple before eating it. "Needs more salt," he announced, licking his fingers. Roger watched, his cock hardening painfully against his swim trunks, the memory of Henderson pounding his wife mixing with the sight of her prone, edible body. "Easy access for everything," Roger mumbled, the words tasting sour yet exciting. Henderson chuckled, setting his beer bottle down heavily on Betty’s lower ribs, the cold glass making her gasp.
"Hold still, Betty," Mri reprimanded mildly, placing a cluster of grapes directly onto her mound, the small fruits nestling against her pubic bone. The coolness startled her, a tiny flinch rippling through her submerged body. Davies, emboldened, reached down into the water, his fingers not aiming for grapes but sliding roughly between her slick labia. "Just checking the temperature," he leered, rubbing her clit hard. Betty whimpered, her legs trembling, trying not to move the precarious platters. Henderson watched Davies’s hand working under the water, grinning. "Looks warm enough for me," Henderson growled, already untying his swim trunks. "Move the snacks, Mri. Main course is fucking served." Mri simply smiled, his eyes meeting Betty’s terrified gaze for a fraction of a second before looking away, leaving the grapes on her pussy. The water surged as Henderson’s bulk lowered himself between her spread legs.