Kenny was actually looking forward to the shower. Wrong of him to enjoy this kind of punishment, probably, but he didn’t much give a fuck.
She’d explicitly agreed to cold showers. They hadn’t happened yet, but they were fucking-well going to happen the rest of the week.
He nodded to Boone and Silas, and Boone unstrapped her from the table while Kenny walked ahead to the bathroom.
She crawled after them. Knees slow, arms trembling. Sauce in her hair, all over her face.
When she reached the door, she whispered, “Sirs? May I pee first?”
Boone pointed to the walk-in shower. “You can piss in there.”
She crawled in and hovered uncertainly until Kenny growled, “Now, cunt.”
She slid her feet under her, squatted on the tile, and let go, blushing furiously, and then climbed to her feet when Boone tapped the glass and ordered, “Stand. Wash your face and hair.”
Kenny adjusted the water to full cold and stepped so he could hold the door closed.
The scream that came a second later didn’t move him.
She went to open the door to run out, frantic, but she saw the look in his eyes and plastered herself against the far wall.
“Did you, or did you not agree to cold showers?” he asked.
She gave a slow nod, a look of horror on her face, but she ran under the stream, backed off, washed her hair and face with the shampoo. Ran it all over her body with shaking limbs, knowing he’d accept nothing less.
He wanted to insist she fully lather the soap, but this was fine. It got the job done.
She still had to rinse the shampoo and soap, apply conditioner, and rinse again.
“You agreed to this,” he said through the door.
Inside, she scrubbed at her face, rubbed shampoo into her hair with shaking fingers. Her body jerked and flinched under the icy assault from the mist she couldn’t escape.
The first rinse had her screaming again.
The conditioner was worse because it had to stay in longer and was harder to rinse.
She huddled against the wall, out of the spray between each rinse, her chest heaving, her teeth chattering.
She looked at him when the conditioner was out of her hair, expecting he’d let her out, but he said. “Enema nozzle. Clean yourself out.”
Her voice broke. “Sir?”
“Insert it. Don’t remove it until I tell you.”
She obeyed.
This nozzle only lets so much pressure build before a valve opens to let water out. When that happened, he told her.
“Remove it but donotrelease yet.”
Cold enemashurt. They cramp. They chill you from the inside out.
But hawks run even warmer than wolves, at a hundred and six verses a hundred and three. She wasn’t going to become hypothermic.
When he gave the word three minutes later, she expelled everything from her system onto the tile, and she sobbed as she grabbed the handheld sprayer and washed it all into the specially designed drain.
“Again,” Kenny said, voice sharp. “Six fucking times ought to clean the filth from your lying trickery. You can defile the shower instead of Boone’s bed this time.”
