“No speaking.”
We stop. There is something in front of me, and I have only a few seconds to contemplate how that is probably a bad thing, no matter what it is. Through the crack of light that the blindfold affords me, I gather that it’s at the height of my waist, made of stone, and smooth—maybe a table?
But before I know it, several things are happening all at the same time. The dress is coming off, lifted by someone from the long skirt up.
“Hey,” I start to protest, and Rysethk hisses next to me. “No talking.”
I’m being lifted before I know it, from behind, beneath my arms, and then I’m placed on the table and pushed onto my hands and knees.
I’m confused by this sudden change of position and plans. I’m already being bound to the table, by heavy shackles that feel like leather, when it dawns on me that I’m also naked, on my hands and knees at table height, and that a roomful of Kerz are behind me, staring at my derrière.
I tug a little at the shackles, but I give up pretty quickly. They’re obviously steadfast, and I’m outnumbered, and whatever is about to happen here, it’s going to happen. For the first time since I was loaded up with these Kerz, I’m able to exercise good control over my mouth. I shut it.
But I have to open it pretty quickly, because I’m breathing rapidly. I wonder if I’m about to get publicly spanked, and as soon as I wonder it, I regret doing so: the thought, perversely, makes my pussy ache and I recognize that I’m getting wet.
I hear movements around me. I’m incredibly grateful for the blindfold at this point, because it gives me a certain degree of anonymity, a way to hide my humiliation.
Which begins almost immediately. When he touches me, I know it’s the Kapsuk. He places a rough, firm hand on my lower back and pushes down gently, tilting my ass up.
“Stay like this,” he orders in English.
Hands come from everywhere, beginning in a small trickle. I don’t know what they are saying, but they are talking to each other in Kerz. The discussion seems to be like a conversation between traders at a livestock market, and I realize with shame that this is essentially what is happening.
They lift my chin, gripping it firmly in strong hands. Someone slides a finger into my mouth and runs it over my teeth, then pries my mouth open with two fingers in a scissor-like movement. But at the same time, fingers are probing my pussy, slipping into the folds, tracing circles on my anus. I can feel my face getting red and hot, but even more disturbingly, I’m reacting with arousal to their assessments, or whatever they are. In fact, the shame seems to be the very thing that is making me aroused.
I feel many fingers tracing the faint welts—there must still be, at a minimum, reddened skin to guide them in the shape of the Kapsuk’s hands.
This goes on for quite some time. Voices come and go, and it sounds almost like a cocktail party around me, with Kerz mingling over drinks and occasionally approaching me, like an interactive art installation, to probe my pussy, my mouth, and—after wetting their fingers in my juices—even my anus. They don’t dip far, but it’s enough to make me squirm and inhale sharply, and for the color of my face to deepen to what I can only imagine is now the shade of Garkan beets.
When I begin to tire of the position the Kapsuk put me in, with my back so arched that it has begun to ache, I let up a little. His hand—again, I know it’s him—is there immediately, pushing me back into position. Like everything he does, this is a calm movement, firm and unyielding. But a threat of unreal strength is just beneath his skin. I relent. What else can I do?
My knees are beginning to hurt a little. But I find the pain, to my own surprise and dismay, vaguely arousing. No doubt the Kerz around me have noticed this as well, and are commenting on it.
After what seems like an eternity of this gentle humiliation, a voice booms from the direction in front of me, and the chatter and examination ceases. I exhale, my heart beating rapidly.
Okay, I think. That was humiliating, but not that bad.
More commands are barked, but this time in the voice of the general. I recognize the playful cruelty in it, and it sends a shiver through me.
I’m reminded of Trasmea’s words, and it hits me like a cool ton of bricks: I’m to be mated for this Kerz. And married to him, but who even knows what that means?
I hear footsteps, and then I feel the heavy hand of someone who is not the Kapsuk on my back, pushing me into a contorted position, my ass up very high. His hand remains there, and there is a shuffling behind me. I hear the scrape of metal, of hard objects, and it’s the only sound that pierces the sudden quiet.
Then something very cold is pressed against the opening of my pussy. I have no time to think about it, no time to reach into my memories and try to identify such an object—but there is a familiarity to it. Only when it slides in, cold and hard, and then begins to stretch me open wide, do I realize what it is: a speculum.
My mouth falls open and I begin to make a sound. What was I going to say? I don’t even know. It comes out as a stifled, mangled word. Something like “Ohwhag.” But I shut up, because… what can I do?
The sound of growls, dispersed through the room, closes in on me. Words are exchanged over the top of me, as I boil in embarrassment, unable to move. How many Kerz are looking at me now? Watching my pussy be stretched open with a speculum?
It moves slowly, but keeps stretching, wider and wider, until the stretching begins to bite a little. I wonder how far they will go, but I don’t dare ask or say anything. Finally, just as the pain is becoming too sharp for me to bear it in silence, it stops. The speculum is left inside me, heavy, stretching me.
For a moment, that is all. I relax a little. Why not? What’s done is done.
And then I feel something being inserted. Up it goes, whatever it is, probing my insides. It’s a very clinical, very intimate examination.
Just in front of like two dozen males.
This goes on for a while, and then I hear a Kerz talking, and feel wisps of his warm breath on my damp pussy, snaking over my skin, inside of me. He seems to be reading off information, or perhaps an assessment.
