Chapter 3: The Bathroom Humiliation
The humiliation of the kitchen floor clung to him like a film. The memory of Annika’s foot on his tongue, the taste of Conzi’s strawberry, the searing pain of the denied orgasm—it all coalesced into a low, humming shame that followed him as he was ordered to the bathroom.
The room was sterile and gleaming, white tiles reflecting the harsh overhead light. Steam from the running faucet fogged the mirror and clouded the air, carrying the cloying scent of lavender bath oil. In the center sat the large, claw-foot tub, already half-full with swirling, hot water. On the counter, next to the sink, was the small, locked wooden box. He didn’t know what was inside, only that its purpose was to deepen his subjugation.
“Strip,” Lucia commanded, leaning against the doorframe. She had changed into a sheer, black robe that did nothing to hide the silhouette of her body. “Then get on your knees.”
His fingers fumbled with the drawstring of his pants, the simple task feeling monumental under her unwavering gaze. He dropped his clothes to the floor, the cold air hitting his skin, making him aware of every inch of his exposed flesh. The chastity device felt heavier than ever, a grotesque piece of hardware on his otherwise naked body. He knelt on the hard, cold tiles, the steam from the tub condensing on his skin.
Conzi entered, smiling behind her glasses. She trailed a hand through the water. “Perfect. We’re feeling a bit… sticky. From all your slobbering in the kitchen. You’re going to clean us. Properly.”
She slipped out of her robe and stepped into the tub, sinking into the water with a contented sigh. Lucia followed, her robe pooling at her feet. She didn’t get in immediately. Instead, she stood before him, water dripping from her fingertips onto his head.
“Start with me,” Lucia said, her voice a low purr. “Use your mouth. Lick the soap. Lather it on my legs. And I want to hear you work.”
She handed him a bar of soap. It was slick and unfamiliar in his hand. He leaned forward, his face inches from her calf. He dragged his tongue along her skin, from her ankle to the back of her knee. The taste was a bizarre mix of clean soap and her unique, musky salt. He did it again, slower this time, using his lips and teeth to gently scrape the skin, lathering the soap with his saliva and the sweat from her body.
“Higher,” she murmured, shifting her weight.
He moved up her thigh, his tongue leaving a wet, glistening trail through the fine dark hair. His caged cock throbbed, a useless, aching weight. He was hard again, painfully so, the metal biting into him with every beat of his heart. He was licking her, worshiping her, and his body was betraying him with a fervor that sickened him.
“Good,” she said, her voice thick. “Now get in here. Conzi’s turn.”
He climbed into the tub, the hot water sloshing over the sides. The space was cramped with three bodies. Conzi was reclined, her head resting on the rim, her eyes closed. Her short blonde hair was damp at the edges. Her breasts broke the surface of the water, nipples tight from the heat.
“My back,” she said without opening her eyes. “Get every inch.”
He moved behind her, the soap now slippery in his hand. He started at her shoulders, using his mouth and tongue to work the lather into her skin. He tasted the faint chlorine of the water, the lavender oil, and the underlying sweetness of her. He worked his way down her spine, each vertebra a bump under his tongue. She arched into his mouth, a soft moan escaping her lips.
“Mmm, that’s it. Use your tongue. Get it good and wet.”
He obeyed, lapping at her skin like an animal, his face buried between her shoulder blades. The water sloshed, rhythmically, as Lucia watched from the other end of the tub, her green eyes gleaming with predatory interest.
“Now the front,” Conzi said, turning over in the water to face him.
His breath hitched. She was fully exposed, her body glistening and soapy in the water. Her breasts were right there, her stomach, the thatch of blonde hair between her legs. He stared, frozen.
“I said, the front,” she repeated, her voice losing its lazy cadence and turning sharp.
He leaned in, his heart hammering against his ribs. He started at her collarbone, his tongue tracing the delicate line. He moved lower, to the swell of her breast, and took a nipple into his mouth. It was hard and pebbled against his tongue. He swirled his tongue around it, suckling gently, and she let out a sharp gasp, her hand coming up to grip the back of his head.
“Yes. Just like that. You’re a quick learner when you’re motivated.”
He moved across her stomach, his tongue dipping into her navel, then lower, through the trail of hair. The water was turning murky with soap and the effluvium of their bodies. He was at the junction of her thighs now, the hot water lapping at her skin. He could smell her, the rich, pungent scent of her arousal, even through the perfumed oil.
“Go on,” Lucia urged from behind him, her voice a whisper in his ear. “Clean her. Use that tongue.”
He buried his face between her legs.
The world narrowed to taste and sensation. Her folds were slick and hot against his mouth. He lapped at her, tentatively at first, then with a growing, desperate hunger. He found her clit, a hard little pearl, and focused his attention there, flicking his tongue over it again and again.
Conzi bucked under him, her hips rising out of the water. “Fuck, yes. Right there. Don’t you fucking stop.”
He didn’t. He ate her with a single-minded intensity, his own denied pleasure fueling the act. He was a tool, a utensil for her gratification, and the realization was both degrading and perversely empowering. He was good at this. He could feel her tightening around his tongue, her breaths coming in short, sharp pants.
“I’m gonna come,” she gasped. “Keep going. Make me come on your fucking face.”
He drove his tongue deeper, sucking and licking as her thighs clamped around his head, muffling her cries. Her body went rigid, then shuddered violently, a long, guttural moan tearing from her throat as she ground herself against his mouth, soaking his face with her release.
She pushed his head away, panting. “Okay. Okay. Stop.”
He pulled back, dripping and breathless, her taste thick on his lips. She looked down at him, her eyes glazed with satisfaction. “Not bad. For a useless cock in a cage.”
Lucia chuckled. “My turn. But I think we need a different angle. Out of the tub.”
He climbed out, water streaming from his body onto the floor. He was shaking, from the heat, from the exertion, from the relentless ache in his groin.
“On your back. Now,” Lucia ordered, stepping out of the water. She was magnificent, water sluicing down her curves, her dark hair plastered to her neck.
He lay down on the cold, wet tiles, the shock of it a sharp contrast to the tub's heat. Lucia stood over him, one foot placed on either side of his head.
“This is for your earlier disobedience,” she said, her voice cool and precise. “And for thinking you deserved to come.”
She lowered herself slowly, her knees bending until her wet, dark triangle was hovering just above his face. The scent of her, muskier and earthier than Conzi’s, filled his nostrils. Then she dropped her full weight onto him.
Her pussy smothered his mouth and nose. He could barely breathe. The world was reduced to the smell of her, the taste of her, the crushing weight of her ass on his face. She began to move, a slow, grinding rhythm, rubbing herself against his lips, his nose, his chin.
“Breathe through your mouth, fucktoy,” she commanded, her voice muffled by her own thighs. “Taste me.”
He opened his mouth, gasping for air, and his tongue was immediately invaded by her slick, swollen flesh. He struggled for a moment, panic rising, but then the instinct to survive, to please, took over. He licked and sucked at her, his tongue delving as deep as it could go despite the crushing pressure.
She moaned above him, her grinding becoming more frantic. “Yeah, that’s it. Lick my cunt. Lick it like the worthless slut you are.”
He could feel her muscles clenching, hear her ragged breaths. She was using his face, fucking his face, and his trapped, caged erection was straining so hard he thought the metal would break. He was nothing but a thing, a vessel for her pleasure, and the utter annihilation of his self was a strange, dark ecstasy.
Her movements became jerky, her thighs tightening around his head. She let out a sharp, choked cry and then collapsed onto him, her full weight pressing him into the hard floor as her body convulsed in a powerful orgasm.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of her heavy breathing and the drip of water from the tub. Then, she lifted herself off him.
Cool air hit his wet, abused face. He gasped, sucking in great lungfuls of it. He was covered in her, smeared with her release, his senses utterly overwhelmed.
Lucia looked down at him, a satisfied smirk on her face. “You make a good pillow.”
Conzi, now wrapped in a towel, picked up the locked box from the counter. She didn’t open it. Instead, she placed it on his chest, the cold wood a stark weight on his overheated skin.
“Remember this,” she said softly. “This is what you are without us. A locked box. Empty. And we hold the key.”
She stood up, and the two women left him there, lying on the cold, wet floor, the box on his chest and the taste of both of them mingling in his mouth. The throb of his denied orgasm was a constant, dull pain, a promise of more torment to come. The month stretched before him, an endless series of lessons in his own insignificance, and he was learning them all too well.