But I can’t hold it back anymore.
Liquid shit sloshes between my ass cheeks and sprays the floor in a steady stream. It keeps going. There’s so much shit, I’m convinced I’ve somehow shit out my organs too.
The stench of rotting food envelops me in its claustrophobic aroma. It reminds me of vomit after a night of drinking or the city dump on a summer day. It’s suffocating.
I retch, my entire torso convulsing, my forehead smacking into the cage bars. Vomit erupts from my mouth and dribbles over my cheeks and neck. It hurts so bad, but I can’t stop it. I keep vomiting until each convulsion is dry.
My stomach and intestines are completely empty now.
The urge to pee tingles my lower abdomen. This time, I don’t even try to stop it. I’m naked, cold, and there’s semen, spit, shit, and vomit caked to different parts of my body; urine doesn’t seem that bad.
My piss is warm and almost comforting. I cross my fingers it washes away some of the shit.
Tears burn my eyes; I don’t let them fall. It’s embarrassing to be humiliated like this, but it’s not like I had a choice. I was force-fed some sort of nutritional shake that was probably laced with a laxative and a hydration boost. There’s nothing I could have done to stop myself from having an accident.
You could have run away, my brain reminds me. You could have gone with Benji. You could have?—
I stop the thoughts before they become too much.
The first week or so will be revolting and painful, the assistant had said. Maybe he meant the odor? After your body becomes accustomed to it, it won’t be as bad. I guess he meant once the rest of my normal diet is out of my system, my shit won’t smell as bad?
“Great. Something to look forward to,” I mutter. Is this an anal sex thing to clear out my ass for Dr. Ambrose?
My instincts tell me it’s more than that. It must have to do with controlling everything about me, even my nutrition.
I shiver; it’s like my toes and fingers are made of ice. I don’t care if I’m naked, but I hate being cold. I want him.
His heat.
Tears soak my face. Snot fills my nose. I hate admitting it, but it’s true. I want his heat.
Is this what he did to my mother? Force her to eat laxative-dosed nutritional shakes and wake her up in the middle of the night to eat his ass? If I had known this would happen, would I still want to come here?
I’m tired, so fucking tired of these thoughts, of fighting with myself. Even if I had known everything about Dr. Ambrose before all of this, I know I still would have come here. I had to do this for myself.
Footsteps tap the floor. My forehead bumps the metal bars. I open my eyes.
The overhead lights are dimmer now. I must’ve briefly fallen asleep.
Dr. Ambrose steps forward. He looks down his curved nose.
“I see you’ve taken to your new confinement,” he says.
Every hair on my neck and arms stands. His scrutiny washes over me, his cock stretching his black pants.
I want so badly for him to touch me, my body aches.
“I-I couldn’t—” I stammer. I’m a child again, begging my foster parents not to lock me in my bedroom for making a mess. “I couldn’t?—”
“Shhh,” Dr. Ambrose murmurs, hushing me as he sits on top of the cage. The metal creaks. He reaches between the bars and brushes my nipple with his thumb. “You couldn’t help it; I made sure of that. Once you’ve accepted yourself, I will give you back the privilege of relieving yourself with dignity. Perhaps a diaper will do.”
I shudder. A diaper?
“I’m an adult,” I whisper.
“Oh, sweetness, plenty of adults use diapers. You may be an adult legally and biologically, but you’re not a true adult, are you? You can’t be when you’re such a filthy cunt.” His knuckles stroke my teary cheeks. “Soon, your only worry will be whether or not you can make me cum. All of your anxieties, all of your worries, even relieving your bowels, won’t matter. Won’t that be nice?”
He lifts from the cage, and that’s when I notice the lamp in his other hand. A long cord dangles behind it; it must be plugged into an outlet outside of the room.
