The speculum is removed as suddenly as it was inserted, and I burn in humiliation as a wet sound accompanies its departure.
But a cold metal object pressed to my anus replaces this humiliation with a fresh one.
“Wait,” I hear myself saying. I turn my head, as if I could see behind me, or plead with my eyes. A hand takes my chin and turns me slowly—but firmly, and without recourse unless I want my neck broken—back to the front.
I squeeze my eyes when the object is pressed into my anus, expecting another speculum, wondering how painful it will be. I’m surprised by the way my body reacts to this; I had a boyfriend, once, who wanted to try this sort of thing. But I made him stop right away.
This is smaller than a cock, or a speculum, I realize with relief that is short-lived. Whatever it is, it slides into me easily, with only a tiny bit of sharp pain as I try to resist it. I remember him telling me that I have to push out to relax, and so I do that. And the object keeps moving in, on and on.
And then it stops.
A warmth begins inside of me, causing a momentary panic. I let another incomprehensible sound escape my lips in shock and protest, but clap them closed quickly.
The sensation is warm, not hot, and it’s… making me feel full. I’m being stretched, and filled, but I can’t figure out what it is for several moments. It’s only as it grows, slowly, inside of me, never hard, always soft and yet heavy at the same time, that I realize what is actually happening.
The object is withdrawn, and a hard object—a plug—replaces it.
I have been given an enema.
I start to feel hot all over. My cheeks are so on fire that they can’t get any worse, but now the back of my neck joins them, and I can feel a nervous, humiliated energy traveling all over my body. Worst ofall? The ache in my pussy is growing, my arousal dripping from between my legs for all to see.
They leave me like this for some time, as a cocktail party atmosphere ensues again around me. I try to imagine the scene: me, naked, on all fours, with my ass filled up with some liquid, and the Kerz just mingling like it’s some corporate get-together. Maybe they’re even eating cake.
My belly begins to move in waves of muscle; I can’t control it. It’s part nervousness, and maybe something sexual and arousing. I’m breathing heavily.
When I feel an object between my legs, and then the tug of the plug they put in me removed, tears of humiliation form in my eyes, as the most mortifying possible thing that they could have done to me is… well, done. No way to avoid it.
I’m patted dry with a towel, and then left on my hands and knees as they discuss something over my supine body.
Someone claps loudly, two times. The restraints are removed, I’m lifted again and set on my feet. I feel the Kapsuk’s hands run from my waist, along my ribs, and then under my arms, lifting them above my head. The silky dress falls down around me as they slide it over my body, tug it into place, and then release me.
The blindfold is still on. I stand, legs wobbling, with no idea what to do.
Someone yells something in Kerz.
It’s the general, who stands close to me, and with his jocular, cruel voice, breathes close to my ear—sending goosebumps I don’t understand down my neck—“Now, we eat, my little flower.”
I’m not sure how to interpret this:
Now, we eat, my little flower.
Or:
Now we eat my little flower.
The fingers of the Kapsuk are on my lower back again, prodding me. The general is the one who takes my hand and pulls me with him. I follow, but my lips turn down, and inside, I’m reeling; I wish the Kapsuk was still touching me. The general is strong and gentle, but I can feel it on my palms, running through my skin; I don’t, for whatever reason, trusthimat all.
I am guided to a chair, and the general moves me around by the shoulders and tells me to sit. I feel his hands at the back of my head, removing the blindfold. I have my eyes shut tight, as if I could make this whole humiliating and strange scene go away if I just don’t look at it, and I feel the light penetrating my eyelids. I know I’m supposed to open my eyes, but fear has clutched my heart and I can’t force myself to do it.
What will I see? I have no idea. Anything could happen with these Kerz, but so far, everything that I have seen when they are in large groups (as they appear to be now) has been violent and frightening.
I hear the general’s voice, in Kerz, sounding confused and speaking in a low voice to someone next to me. I’m relieved to hear the Kapsuk’s voice answer him, even if I don’t know what he’s saying.
I feel his hand—the Kapsuk’s—on my left arm, which the general rested on a table in front of me before lifting what seems to be a very heavy wooden chair with me in it and setting it—as opposed to pushing it—so that the table meets my sternum.
Heat radiates next to my face, and a warm puff of breath grazes my cheek when the Kapsuk speaks.
“Open your eyes,” and when I start to shake my head minutely, he adds, “It’s a feast, nothing more tonight, and you are hungry. Open your eyes.”
