Chapter 8: Soap
The bathroom door was ajar, a sliver of warm, damp air escaping into the cooler hallway. Derek pushed it open, the scene within arresting him mid-step. For a moment, his brain refused to process the entirety of what he was seeing. His gaze was drawn, magnetically, to the two pairs of buttocks presented side-by-side at the porcelain sink. They were both a uniform, fierce shade of pinkish-red, the skin glowing warmly under the single, flickering bulb. The marks were fresh, vivid.
It was only then, his eyes tracking upwards, that the full picture assembled itself with a jarring clarity. They were completely naked. Fiona and Petra stood rigid, their backs to him, their posture a symphony of shame and resignation. The pale skin of their backs and the gentle curves of their waists were stark against the dingy tiles.
“Come in, I’ve already prepared the girls,” Katja said, her voice calm and practical. She was standing next to Petra, a solid, fully-clothed figure of authority amidst the vulnerable nudity. She gestured for him to take the space beside Fiona.
Derek moved forward, the floorboards creaking under his weight. The room was small, forcing him into close proximity. The air was thick with steam and the cloying sweetness of cheap strawberry perfume from a plugged-in air freshener, a failed attempt to mask the underlying scent of mildew.
Fiona flinched as he approached her side. She was holding a white bar of soap, its wrapper discarded on the edge of the sink. It looked freshly unwrapped, pristine and threatening. Her small shoulders trembled, and when he glanced at her profile, he saw tears already welling in her wide, blue eyes, glistening but not yet falling.
“Fiona… Fiona!” Katja’s voice snapped, sharp and effective. The girl jolted, her blonde hair swaying. “Give D the soap, please.”
Fiona’s hand, trembling slightly, extended the bar to him. His fingers closed around the waxy, cool rectangle. Only now did he notice Katja was holding an identical bar.
“I’ll show you with Petra, and then you do it with Fiona, okay?” Katja instructed, her tone leaving no room for question.
Derek simply nodded, his throat suddenly dry. He watched, a fascinated spectator to a strange and intimate ritual.
Katja turned the tap on, the water rushing loudly in the confined space. She held her bar under the stream, thoroughly wetting it, then rubbed it briskly between her palms. A thick, sickly-sweet lather blossomed, coating her hands in white suds.
“Open wide and stick your tongue out, Petra,” Katja commanded.
Petra, the usually bubbly and defiant one, hesitated for a fraction of a second. A low, reluctant sigh escaped her before she complied. Her mouth opened, and her tongue emerged, a pale pink gesture of surrender.
“Ahhhhhh,” Katja prompted, and without further ceremony, she pushed the lathered bar into Petra’s mouth.
It wasn’t a gentle placement. It was an insertion. Katja then began to work the soap with a systematic, brutal efficiency. She scrubbed it over the girl’s tongue, then under it, forcing Petra’s jaw wider. She scraped it against the inside of her right cheek, then the left, the abrasive motion generating more foam that spilled from Petra’s lips. The gagging started almost immediately, a wet, choking sound that made Derek’s own throat constrict in sympathy. Finally, Katja shoved the bar itself deep into Petra’s mouth, a white, foaming cork.
“And hold on to it tight, Petra!” Katja ordered, withdrawing her soap-slicked fingers.
“M…. Mo…Mooom,” Petra choked out, the word dissolving into a gag as she struggled to keep the foaming invader in her mouth. Spit and suds dripped onto her chin.
“And now you with Fiona,” Katja said, turning her expectant gaze on Derek.
He looked at Fiona. She was already watching him, her expression one of pure dread. Without being told a second time, she mimicked Petra’s posture. Her mouth opened. Her delicate tongue, much smaller than Petra’s, stuck out, quivering slightly. A single tear finally escaped and traced a clean path through the steam on her cheek.
…Mphf.
Derek followed Katja’s example precisely. He wet the bar under the tap, the water shockingly cold on his skin. He worked up a lather, the soap slick and unpleasantly fragrant. Then he pressed it into Fiona’s mouth.
The moment it touched her tongue, she recoiled, a full-body shudder wracking her frame. He held firm, his former military training surfacing, allowing for no retreat. He scrubbed the bar across her palate, feeling the delicate texture of her mouth. He worked it under her tongue, then methodically scoured the insides of her cheeks. The gagging was softer than Petra’s, more pathetic, a series of helpless, muffled heaves. Tears now flowed freely down her face, dripping from her jawline onto her chest. The entire time, her eyes were screwed shut, as if by not seeing him, it might not be happening. When her mouth was full of the vile-tasting foam, he pushed the bar itself between her teeth, lodging it there.
“Hold on to it tightly, young lady!” he said, his voice stern, echoing Katja’s authority. It felt foreign on his tongue, yet strangely natural.
Fiona’s only response was a weak, gurgling sob. She stood there, naked and shivering, a bar of soap stuffed in her mouth, her body marked and her spirit seemingly broken.
Katja gave a satisfied nod. “You’ll find fresh bars of soap under the sink, whenever you see the need for one.” She wiped her hands on a small towel. “Please let me know if we need fresh ones, okay?”
Derek just nodded at Katja, his eyes drifting back to the two girls, their punishment a stark, silent tableau in the flickering light.
The flickering light seemed to pulse with the ragged rhythm of their breathing. Katja leaned back against the sink, her arms crossed, a quiet architect of this intimate humiliation. Her eyes, calm and assessing, moved from Petra’s tense back to Fiona’s trembling form.
Derek’s gaze followed, a slow, deliberate inventory. He took in the three women, the hierarchy of the house made physically manifest in this cramped, steamy space. Katja was the still center, fully clothed and in command, her medium-sized breasts pushing against her shirt as she breathed, her firm bottom resting against the porcelain rim.
His attention shifted to the two naked figures. Petra stood with a forced rigidity, her athletic frame taut with suppressed rebellion. The soap bar was a white knuckle in her mouth, her jaw clenched so tight the muscles in her neck stood out. Spit and suds coated her chin, dripping onto her slightly fuller breasts.
Then there was Fiona. Her delicate Disney princess features were contorted, streaked with tears and soapy residue. Her small, round bottom was still flushed from the earlier spanking, a stark contrast to the pale skin of her back. Her entire body shuddered with each wet, gagging breath she tried to take around the soap.
“They need to learn that backtalk has a taste,” Katja said, her voice cutting through the thick air. “And it’s not strawberry.”
Derek found himself nodding, a slow, grim acceptance settling in his gut. He watched a single, fat tear roll from Fiona’s eye, trace the curve of her cheek, and fall, splashing onto the swell of her small breast. The sight was profoundly more affecting than Petra’s stubborn silence.
“You can take it out now,” Katja said after a long, punishing minute. “But you’re not to swallow. You hold the taste in your mouths. Understood?”
Two sets of hands moved in unison, pulling the slick, foul-tasting bars from their mouths. Petra gasped, hawking and spitting into the sink immediately. Fiona simply stood, her mouth hanging open, her tongue working helplessly as she tried not to swallow the pervasive, chemical bitterness.
“Good,” Katja said, her tone shifting to one of dismissal. “Now, you two go stand in the hallway. Face the wall. I don’t want to hear a peep until I say you can move.”
They shuffled out, their nakedness seeming even more profound in the openness of the hall. Derek watched them go, the sight of their retreating forms, one defiant, one broken, searing itself into his memory. The bathroom felt suddenly larger, emptier.
Katja turned on the tap again, rinsing her hands methodically. She looked at Derek, a faint, unreadable smile touching her lips. “You handled that well,” she said, her voice dropping to a more conversational tone. “It’s important they have a consistent male influence.”
He just looked at her, the residual heat of the moment still coursing through him. The kind smile he usually wore felt like a mask he had misplaced.
Time pass's and its nearly time for bed when he hear another interesting conversation.
The low murmur of voices from the hallway pulled Derek from his thoughts. He cracked his door open just enough to see the scene unfolding a few meters away. Katja had Sabine by the chin, her grip firm as she tilted the younger woman’s face up towards the dim ceiling light.
“I brushed my teeth, really!” Sabine’s protest was thin, a child’s whine in a woman’s throat.
Katja’s sigh was one of profound, practiced patience. “Ahhhh,” she instructed, her tone leaving no room for defiance.
Sabine’s mouth opened reluctantly, obediently, a routine she clearly knew by heart. Katja leaned in, peering into the cavern of her mouth, checking the adult woman’s teeth for cleanliness as if she were a small child. The intimacy of the inspection was startling, a private ritual made public by the open door.
“Sabine, how many times have we discussed this?” Katja’s voice was a low, chiding murmur. “Teeth are brushed properly every night before bedtime.”
Before bedtime. The phrase echoed in Derek’s mind, conjuring an image of a strictly enforced nine o’clock lights-out for all of them.
It was then that Sabine noticed him watching. Her eyes, previously glazed with resignation, flew wide open in shocked humiliation. She tried to wrench her head back, but Katja’s hold on her jaw was unyielding.
“Mmmph! Katja, you can’t do that in front of him!” Her voice was distorted, muffled by the fingers still prying her mouth open.
Katja didn’t even glance his way. “Oh, would you rather he did that, young lady?”
The question hung in the air, sharp and dangerous. Sabine’s body went slack with defeat, all fight extinguished by the horrifying suggestion.
“And now off to the bathroom to brush your teeth,” Katja concluded, releasing her chin only to deliver a sharp, dismissive slap to Sabine’s bottom. “But thoroughly!”
Sabine scurried away, her face flushed a deep, mortified crimson. She disappeared into the bathroom with a groan that carried clearly down the hall. “He has seen everything,” she moaned to herself, “this is sooo ultra embarrassing….”
Derek stood frozen in his doorway, processing the exchange. All this fuss about brushing teeth with the girls. Wait— “the girls.” So it wasn’t just about Sabine. The realization settled over him, heavy and clear. Sabine, like Fiona and Petra, was subject to the full spectrum of Katja’s discipline. The house’s strange, intricate rules applied to them all.