Chapter 31: The Water Torture
The white light was a constant, scalding presence. Time lost its shape, measured only by the creeping stiffness in her limbs and the dull, throbbing ache that radiated from her core. She didn’t move from the chair. The camera’s red eye watched. She watched it back, her mind a numb, blank screen. Eventually, a biological urgency forced her to move. She slid off the leather, her legs buckling, catching herself on the cold steel arm. The protein bar and water sat by the sink. She ate, she drank, she pissed in the drain, the stream splashing against the concrete. The humiliation was academic now, a footnote. She crawled back into the chair, the smell of sex and leather and her own sweat clinging to her. She waited.
The lock turned. The door opened. Marcus entered first, followed by Lina, who carried a large plastic bucket and a coiled green hose. Marcus looked rested, clean. Lina had changed her clothes.
“Awake. Good,” Marcus said, his voice echoing in the sterile space.
Lina set the bucket down with a thump. It was filled with clear water and chunks of ice that clinked together. She attached one end of the hose to a spigot on the wall, the other to a long, narrow nozzle made of hard plastic. It wasn’t a nozzle for washing; it was slender, tapered, designed for insertion.
“Let’s see how you handle pressure,” Lina said, her tone conversational, as if discussing the weather. She picked up the camera, checked the battery, and hit record. The red light glowed once more.
Mary’s body clenched instinctively, a hollow dread flooding the numbness. She didn’t resist as Marcus guided her back into the chair, reclining it further. He didn’t re-secure all the straps, only the ones around her ankles, pulling her legs wide once more. Her cunt felt raw, puffy, an open wound. Lina approached, the nozzle in her hand glistening with water from the bucket.
“Cold,” Lina warned, but it wasn’t a kindness. It was a promise.
The plastic tip pressed against Mary’s entrance. It was shockingly cold, making her gasp. Lina pushed, working it past the tender, swollen flesh. It slid in deeper, an invasive, unyielding cold that made her teeth chatter. It went farther than a cock, probing into a place that felt too deep, too internal.
Marcus moved to the wall, his hand on the valve. “Ready?”
“Go slow at first,” Lina instructed, her eye pressed to the camera’s viewfinder, aimed directly between Mary’s legs.
Marcus turned the handle.
A trickle at first, a shocking chill spreading inside her. Then the pressure increased. A steady, cold stream began to fill her. Mary’s eyes went wide. It was a bizarre, violating fullness, without warmth or friction. Just insistent, expanding cold. She could feel it pooling, pushing.
“More,” Lina said.
Marcus opened the valve wider.
The stream became a forceful jet. Mary cried out, her hands gripping the chair arms. Her lower belly, soft and rounded, began to distend. A subtle bulge appeared under her navel, growing taut and firm under the harsh lights. The pressure was immense, a balloon being inflated inside her uterus. A sharp, cramping pain joined the cold. She whimpered, her body trembling.
“Look at that,” Lina murmured, fascinated. “Like a little pregnancy. Can you feel it stretching you? Filling up all your empty spaces?”
Mary could only nod, tears spilling. The pressure was unbearable, a feeling of being on the verge of bursting. Marcus watched, his expression one of detached interest. After a minute that felt like an hour, Lina held up a hand. “Okay. Stop.”
Marcus shut the valve. The internal pressure remained, a heavy, aching weight. Lina put the camera down and, without ceremony, pulled the nozzle out. A gush of cold water followed, splattering onto the leather and the floor. But it wasn’t enough. She was still full, distended.
“Now, let’s stir it up,” Lina said. She picked up a thick, black silicone dildo from the tray. It had a pronounced veiny texture and a flared base with a heavy, buzzing bullet vibrator inserted into it. She switched it on. A low, aggressive hum filled the room.
She pressed the head against Mary’s leaking entrance. “Push it out. Make room.”
Sobbing, Mary bore down. More water trickled out. Lina shoved the dildo in, forcing it past the clenched, protesting muscle. The vibration was immediate, a deep, ruthless buzz that traveled through her overfilled belly. It wasn’t pleasurable. It was an assault on swollen, sensitive tissue, a violent agitation of her cramping womb.
Marcus unzipped his pants. He was hard. He walked to the head of the chair, gripped Mary’s hair, and angled her face toward his cock. “Open up. You’re not making enough noise for the camera.”
He shoved his cock into her mouth, bypassing her lips, hitting the back of her throat. She gagged, her body convulsing around the vibrating intrusion in her cunt. The taste of him, skin and salt, filled her mouth. He began to fuck her face in short, brutal thrusts, his pelvis slapping against her nose.
“Moan for me, you dumb cunt,” Lina demanded, slapping Mary’s swollen belly with her open hand. The slap sent a jolt through the water inside her. Lina then squeezed a breast, pinching the nipple hard. “Let’s hear it. Show us you like being our little water balloon.”
Mary tried to moan around the cock in her throat. It came out as a choked, wet gurgle. The vibration in her cunt was relentless, the pressure in her belly a constant, cramping ache. Marcus’s thrusts became faster, harder. She couldn’t breathe through her nose. Spit and pre-come dripped down her chin. Her vision swam with black spots.
“Gonna come in that slut throat,” Marcus grunted, his rhythm faltering. He held her head still, buried himself to the root, and pulsed. She felt the hot, bitter spurts hitting the back of her throat, flooding her mouth. She swallowed reflexively, choking, as he kept coming.
He pulled out, wiping himself on her hair. Mary gasped for air, coughing, strings of cum on her lips.
Lina twisted the dildo inside her, then, with a sharp pull, yanked it free.
The release was catastrophic. A torrent of water and her own fluids gushed out of her, a warm-cold flood that soaked the chair and poured onto the floor with a loud splash. Her belly deflated, leaving a hollow, cramping pain. She lay there, dripping, panting, vibrating with aftershocks.
Lina held the buzzing dildo up to the camera, coated in a mixture of fluids. “Hydration is important.”
Marcus tucked himself away. “Lunchtime. We’ll let her drip dry. We have the Clarendon group coming to preview at four. They want to see resilience.” He looked at Mary’s shivering, emptied form. “Clean this puddle up before then.”
They left, taking the hose and the bucket. The door locked.
Mary slowly, painfully, slid from the chair. Her legs couldn’t hold her. She knelt on the cold, wet floor amidst the mess they had made of her. The camera’s light shone, a single, unblinking red star in a white, empty sky. She reached for the shift she’d worn yesterday, a sodden heap in the corner, and began, mechanically, to wipe the floor.