Tags: unspecified/f, watersports, non-con, slice of life
This story picks up one Thursday in May. It was just after dinner, before dessert.
It'd been about six hours since I last checked on her, the girl that lives in the basement. I shut the blinds in the kitchen and headed down to her home.
* * *
Only a nightlight cast its faint glow into the darkness. I flicked a switch to turn on some old fluorescent lights in the ceiling. The noises and light elicited a tiny squeak from over where she stood, on the right side of the room. There she was.
She was exactly where I saw her last, with her childish figure against the wall, facing it. She had been standing there, nude, occupying that same spot for the majority of the past four days. I locked the door behind me and made my way down the stairs.
She couldn't move from the position I left her in when I last visited, during my lunch break. A tube with a clip on the end was tied to a hook above her head. The tube extended down, between her legs, and into her urethra. Inside, a balloon kept the end from slipping out. She could not sit or lie down---with any deviation from standing, and the balloon and tube would uncomfortably pull and chafe her crotch. A pair of handcuffs on her thin wrists locked her arms behind her back. She could not reach around herself to tamper with the catheter apparatus or to soothe her aching genitals.
She pressed her knees against each other and leaned them painfully against the hard concrete wall of the basement. Her feet hurt even worse. She curled her toes and stood on the outer edges of her feet, temporarily to let the other areas of her soles rest. She kept her head down, with her forehead touching the wall. Droplets of cold sweat had formed on her back from stress.
As I came in, she turned her head to look at me over her shoulder. She squinted from the jarring brightness. Her pupils shrank down to adjust, after which she opened her eyes to look at me again. She looked sad. I don't think she'd given up hope that her parents will show up and take her home.
Some of her hair was stuck messily to her face from the sweat. She was breathing heavily through her nose. A shiny metal ring in her mouth forced her jaw open, and a heavy leathery patch covered her mouth. This kept her from potentially disturbing the neighbors in case she cried out. A strap that looped behind her head held both of these implements securely in place.
The girl was skinny. Emaciated, literally. I never gave her much to eat, and sometimes, as was the case this week, I would starve her as a punishment. It was admirable how hard her body fought to stay alive.
She got three days without food for saying the wrong thing when I had a bad day. One more for not reminding me when my dumb ass forgot about this and brought her down some breakfast the very next morning. And another three---as well as the tube---for drinking too much water and peeing herself while I was away. These durations piled up with no interruption. There was no mercy for screwups during ongoing disciplinary action.
She turned her head back to face the wall and squeezed her eyes shut. That was kind of cold. She evidently didn't love me as much as I loved her. Well, I love her in a kind of creepy, kidnap-ey way. Probably good that nobody "loves" me that. Whatever she'd been feeling, she'd been smart enough to behave herself lately.
I walked up to her from behind and gave her a playful slap on her defenseless bottom. "Hmmg!" she squealed, from behind the gag. She straightened her legs and pressed her bony figure against the wall, as if to escape any further spanking. Her chest scraped against the unpainted concrete. She drew in a sharp breath and held it. Meanwhile, her butt tensed in apprehension that I might strike her again.
Luckily for her, I didn't. "I'm back," I told her cheerfully, with a grin that mocked her pitiful situation. She relaxed again, and her body slid back down against the wall as she settled back into her previous stance. I put my hand on her head and slightly ruffled her sweaty hair. She did not appreciate this, as it added that much more pressure on her aching feet. "Did you miss me?" I asked, not sure whether rhetorically or not. I'd leave that up to her.
She was silent for a moment, wondering too whether I expected her to respond. There was an air of desperation about her, so she quickly decided to do something, so as not to prolong these pointless pleasantries moment further. "Huuaa," she groaned, looking back at me with pleading eyes.
I couldn't figure out whether that was a yes or no, but it didn't matter anyway. "You made it through the six hours. Are you ready for your break?"
Still looking at me over her shoulder, she nodded vigorously, with an emphatic "Uh-huh!" This time she knew how to make herself clear.
"Okay then, come on."
She turned her head back to the wall and repositioned her feet flat on the floor. She then laboriously forced her legs to straighten again.
"Higher!" I demanded. I added a sharp slap on her butt to encourage her.
"Uuhm!" she whined. She drooped slightly, leaning one shoulder against the wall for stability. A fall backwards would be catastrophic for her precious place. She took a few shallow breaths, inhaled, and held it, while she painfully stood up on her toes.
A tiny bit of slack returned to the tube, and it dangled between her and the wall. She craned her neck back to stare impatiently at the hook above, as her exhausted legs trembled under the weight of her body. I unfastened the tube from the hook and brought it down.
The girl dropped down on her heels, and her knees gave way after that. She landed unceremoniously on the arms behind her back. Her legs finally attained the relaxation that they longed for. They sprawled out in a rather un-ladylike manner. On the floor now, she turned her neck to face me and tilted her head back slightly, pushing her gagged mouth forward.
"Alright now, I know," I said soothingly, sitting down on the floor beside her. I unfastened one side of the leather patch over her mouth and flipped it away, to hang from the opposite side of her face.
She looked back up at the ceiling and panted heavily through her mouth, now that it was unobstructed. "Aah! Uh," she stuttered, remembering something important as she caught her breath. "Hiank you," she told me with a certain gratitude that grew less forced the longer she'd been living here.
I sat with her for a couple of minutes and kept an eye on the time on my phone. Her breathing calmed, and she brought her legs together into a more modest position. I looked over her body to get a coarse sense of her health. I could easily see the ribs pressing out under her skin. They moved gently with each breath she took. She was starving horribly, but she would definitely make it to the weekend.
Her scheduled break time was coming to an end. She squeezed her thighs together and looked over to the far corner of the room. It was where I kept a bucket around, to take care of, you know, certain natural functions. She moaned quietly, fearing that her long awaited break would come and go without getting to perform those functions.
I rubbed my hand over her sunken belly. It was smooth and slightly cool to the touch. "You feeling okay? If you need something, you know you have to say it," I reminded her, as I pressed my fingers into her abdomen.
"Iiyaa!" she yelped, as I prodded at her bladder. She squirmed in discomfort, under my focused pressure. She couldn't get away with the little strength she had left. "I hawe to ..." she started, though she was not able to make the right sounds through the gag. I pressed a little harder, feeling around for the swollen globe of liquid inside her. "Uaah!" The girl crossed her legs and drew up her knees. "I hawe to hee," she managed to get out.
It was close enough, given that she was gagged. "Ohhh! We can go take care of that." I took my hand off her abdomen and stood up beside her. Meanwhile, she turned to her side and painstakingly got back on her barely rested legs.
I led her to the bucket. She hobbled along behind me, with the tube between her legs dragging on the floor. When she reached the corner of the room, she stood with her feet apart and thrust her hips forward to present the tube. I grabbed it from between her legs and reeled it in, bringing the clipped end into my hand, and positioned it over the bucket. She winced, as my careless manipulations of the tube caused it to tug and thrash about, irritating her tightly clenched pee hole. "Okay, go ahead," I commanded, as I unclipped the end of the tube.
Immediately, a stream of her pee made its way through the tube and came out the end. The light yellow liquid quietly splashed onto the side of the bucket and flowed down to the bottom of the container. The tube grew warm as her hot waste coursed through it. "Haaa," she sighed in relief.
The girl stood motionless with her legs spread out and head down, watching the bucket fill up. In her weary state, her balance shifted, and she seemed to be gradually tipping over. She stumbled a little but remained standing. I wrapped my free arm around her shoulder. "It's okay. Come here." She leaned in toward me and buried her sweaty face in my stomach. She seemed pleased to have something warm and soft against her skin. "You better not get anything on my shirt though." I felt her nod in agreement. She pulled away a little and readjusted to press against me with her neck and cheek, just to be on the safe side.
It took more than a minute for the flow to slow down to a trickle and stop. She let out a deep breath that she had been holding for the majority of the business. I tapped the last few drops off on the side of the bucket and raised the tip of the tube up high, allowing the liquid that remained inside to flow back into her body. "Hnnn," she complained, as the small amount of her own urine, now slightly cooled, went back into her bladder. Finally, I kinked the tube and put the clip back on the end and put the lid back on the bucket.
Now that she was finished, I pushed her shoulders away so that she was once again standing on her own. She watched me run my hand down my shirt to check for any wet spots---it was pretty clean, albeit a little wrinkled. I gave her a smile of approval and a pat on the head. She blushed, as she was prone to doing whenever she realized that she liked something I did.
I coiled up a few loops of the tube and held it out toward her. She turned around and spread out her palms to receive it. She sat down carefully next to the bucket of her pee and continued to rest her legs. The individual bones of her spine showed when she slouched forward.
"I have a surprise for you," I said. The girl brought her legs together. Her fingers curled around the bundle of tube, and she gave me a fearful glare. "C'mon, don't be like that! It's something nice." She kept her eyes on me with continued suspicion as I placed a lid over the filled bucket. "So, I saw your mother today. She came in to my bookstore around closing time."
"Uaa-a?" She stared at me intently, curious to hear anything about the family she still counted on emotionally.
"You remember the place, right? You would always come by every week when you got your allowance. She knows you loved the place. I never talked to her much, since you would usually visit with your friends.
"I found out that she actually thinks pretty highly of me. She thanked me today for being so nice to you back then. I should really thank you for putting in such a good word for me." I squatted down next to her put my hand on her cheek. She looked away, thinking about her earlier life.
It had been the first time the girl's mother visited since her daughter disappeared. A few months ago, the news outlets reported that the girl went missing after visiting my bookstore, and they speculated that she was kidnapped on her way home. Today the girl's mother apologized for hesitating to talk to me about it; she explained that it was to avoid making me feel guilty. How thoughtful.
"Anyway, the reason she came in was to buy a present. Because today 'would have been' your birthday! You know, I still have your wishlist on the store's computer. She bought the first thing on it. Do you remember what your number one book was?
She lowered her head and stared at the floor, trying to remember. "Auhh ... Huu ..." she whimpered. It had been so long since she ever thought about books. It was something fantasy, but she couldn't recall the details, much less figure out the title. All she could focus on now was how hungry she was. And a few minutes ago, I'd wager that the one thing she couldn't wait to read was "that warning about drowning, printed on the bucket where I can pee." Her eyes unfocused as she tried to shift her mind over to something other than hunger.
"Don't quite have it just yet? You can have a reward if you tell me what the title was. Your mother took a copy of it home with her. She said she's going to put it in your old room. It's too bad she couldn't bring it to you here, huh?
She looked a little distressed now. Probably about how her normal life was over. She'll never be able to read the books she liked again.
"There, there. Cheer up," I consoled her. "I haven't even told you the surprise yet!"
No response. Or not much; she was still lost in thought.
"For your birthday, I bought you ... a cake!"
Her eyes snapped back to the present.
"And you know what? How about you come up to the kitchen to eat it with me? It's been a while since you got to leave the basement, right?"
"Ah, can't ... hhhunishwent," she reminded me, having learned from her mistake on Sunday. Argh, why did I bring this on myself? Now she's going to call me out on every little inconsistency. As fun as it is to have the girl participate in implementing her own torture, it didn't make me happy.
"That's---I know that! This is an exception," I rationalized, "You can have something to eat on your birthday. Today is special, don't you understand? So you better watch your smart mouth before I change my mind about this."
At some level, she didn't know whether to believe me or not. On the other hand, it wasn't like she really had a choice. If I would take her up to the kitchen, then she would go, and if there would be a cake waiting for her, then she would gladly eat it. Her mouth watered at the prospect. It would be the first thing she got to eat this week. She didn't know what to say about this. She simply tipped her head back and swallowed to keep the drool from spilling out.
"Let's go. Right now," I instructed, with an upward gesture. I took the tube from her hands.
"Ah, hyeah." she replied. Slowly but surely, she had convinced herself that finally something good was going to happen to her after several days of her suffering. She in her legs and got herself on her feet before I would start pulling.
I led her to the stairs and guided her up the steps, using the tube like a perverted leash. At this point, I showed far less restraint in delivering painful tugs of encouragement, as there was now a smaller chance of making a mess. She worked her way up the steps to the basement door, enduring the sharp irritation between her legs.
* * *
Getting to come out of the basement was a small reward of its own. The air in the house carried the warmth of early summer. To the undressed girl, it was decadently comfortable compared to the perpetual chill of the underground. Light filtered in from the setting sun, through closed window blinds. The natural glow was easier on the eyes than what the aging fixtures in the basement could provide. Fluffy carpeting cushioned her every footstep, a feeling that was exotic again after the months she spent living on bare concrete flooring.
She followed me obediently through the house. We reached the threshold of the vinyl floored kitchen, bringing an end to one of her few pleasures.
True to my word, I did indeed have a cake for her. It came in an unmarked brown box on the kitchen table. It was a smallish one, although it was still more than the two of us could---should, let's be honest---eat in one sitting. But children's birthdays ought to be a little grand, right?
I loosely tied the tube I was holding to one of the table legs and proceeded to free the cake from its cardboard enclosure. I set the cake on the edge of the table, along with a plastic knife and a couple of forks that came with it.
This was the first time that I went to a bakery and bought a cake. It was a spur of the moment thing, so I just picked out one that they had on hand. It was a simple looking cake, covered with white frosting and topped with curly chocolate shavings. Maybe next year I can order in advance and have one with her name written in frosting. Oh and candles! I can think of one thing she would wish for. Although, could she blow out candles with this kind of gag on? Things to ponder.
The girl leaned in to get a closer look. The sweet smell of the frosting wafted into her nostrils and made her salivate. Condensation had gathered on the cool dessert, making it glisten in the evening light. While she was engrossed in admiration, I picked up the plastic knife and put it in her hands. She took in a startled gasp and stepped back a few inches. Her hands clumsily grasped at the unexpected object. She transferred it to one hand and pulled her cuffed wrist out to the side, trying to see what she was holding.
"Go ahead and cut yourself a piece," I instructed. "Since this is still during your punishment, you can only have a half-inch slice. You think you can manage that?"
She nodded excitedly. The chain connecting her handcuffs rattled as her arms strained to maneuver the knife up and out to the side. She turned to point the knife in the cake's general direction and twisted her head around so she could see what she was doing. Due to her short stature, it was a struggle to reach the knife up to the cake on the table. She got the knife into position and brought it down, making the first cut. After that, she found that although she could pivot the knife about her wrist, it was hard to move the knife enough to make the next cut. After a few moments of adjusting her stance and finding her footing again, she sloppily cut into the cake a second time.
"Okay, that's enough," I told her. I took the knife back and transferred the slice onto a plate for her. Her eyes were trained on this plate as I set it in the center of the table, out of her reach. I put away the rest of the cake and the remaining fork. Meanwhile, she stood hunched over at the table, with her head lowered to the edge, deadlocked in a staring contest with the slice. The wedge lay seductively on its side and taunted her with its alluring appearance and smell.
"Here, you can sit on my lap," I said, pulling out a chair for the two of us. I sat down, and she promptly hopped up onto my lap. That was the most energetic thing she did in these past few days she'd gone without food. She shuffled a bit to position herself strategically, for optimal cake-sitting-in-front-of.
"Alright, let's eat!" I declared, and I brought the plate up to her face. The anticipation was overwhelming. She didn't care what book she once wanted. She didn't care that there was a tube in her urethra. She didn't care that she was tied to the table. All she had on her mind was how hungry she was and how tasty this cake was going to be.
That, and the fact that she couldn't grab the fork with the handcuffs on. Consciously or otherwise, her head gravitated toward the plate, as if she was ready to eat the thing with her face.
"Heh heh, I get that you like cake," I remarked, "but you can't eat it like that, darling." I put my hand over her throat and pulled her head back. A warm wet feeling on my hand startled me. "Eww, you're wet!" I exclaimed, putting the plate back down, "Is this your drool?"
My sudden rebuke caught her attention. She turned and gave me the most sincere apologetic look she could manage. Her mind raced at the thought that she might earn herself another extension to her punishment if she didn't handle this just right. "Aaa ... hyes," she stammered and gulped again to prevent any more from coming out.
I let out a sigh of disappointment. I cleaned off my hand with a napkin. "Here, wipe it off," I offered. I held the napkin in front of her.
She arched her back to rub her neck against the paper in my hand. She stroked her cheeks and chin across to dry her face. "Hiawry," she tried to apologize.
"Aww, I guess it's understandable." I ran my fingers over her neck and sternum to make sure she got it all. She squirmed a little from the intimate, ticklish sensation.
She was back in the clear, and she returned her focus to the cake. Arms cuffed behind her back, her only hope was that I would feed it to her piece by piece. She looked up at me, acknowledging that the situation was in my hands.
"Since it can't be helped, I'll feed you this time," I conceded. I picked up the plate again and brought a piece of the cake to her mouth with the fork.
She made an "ahh" sound, probably a behavior she picked up when she was younger. With the ring gag already holding her mouth open, this was purely ceremonial. The fork carrying the precious cargo passed through her gag and rested on her tongue. Her teeth clenched around the metal ring, but she could not close her mouth around the cake. "Ugaah," she cried in frustration.
Her lips and tongue fumbled about, trying to access the treat. A hint of sweetness seeped into her mouth, increasing her appetite further. Meanwhile, I was distracted by her awkward slicing job. The irregular shape gave me pause. Her tongue aggressively pushed at the fork, but I kept it in place. Curved plastic tines pressed into the sensitive organ, making her wince. "Not so fast."
I withdrew the fork, taking the cake along with it.
"Eaah?" she murmured, confused.
I raised the plate up to her eyes and inquired, "How much cake did you agree to cut?"
She swallowed down the saliva that had been graced with the cake's passing sweetness. "A ... haa-" she testified.
"A half inch," I answered for her. "And how big is this slice?"
"Iih a haa ..." she stammered and trailed off.
The two cuts diverged at the bottom, resulting in the piece being wider than she intended at its base. She messed up. She stared for a few seconds, trying to believe that it wasn't true. But the evidence was right there. She looked away from the slice, not knowing how to respond.
"Such a greedy little scoundrel," I scolded her, "You don't get any cake today." I grabbed the leather patch dangling from her gag, pulled it back over her mouth, and fastened it in place.
"Since you already cut this piece, I'll eat it for you." I brought the fork over her head and into my own mouth. The first piece was warm and moist from her mouth. "Mmm, it's so rich and sweet!" I gloated. "You really would have liked this." I tried to sound especially happy to eat it. This communicates that the cake was so good that it cheered me up; you see what I did there?
She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, trying to distract herself. I'm sure that if her hands weren't cuffed, she also would have covered her ears to block out my aggravating commentary. I put my hand on her head and casually rested my chin on it, effectively subduing her limited means of protest. She was forced to acknowledge the loss of the cake she worked hard to cut for herself. Her stomach growled, announcing that it was expecting to digest something, but found itself empty.
"Hmhmhm," I chuckled through my nose as I chewed a bite, "You're so cute when you're starving!"
She sniffled, and her breathing tensed up. Tears flooded her eyes and blurred her vision.
"Maybe next year you'll be able to have some cake, if you're good."
A tiny muffled whine came from behind the gag. She tried to keep the sobbing as quiet as possible. I've let her come out of the basement a few times before, and she already understood that it was seriously in her best interest not to cause a commotion up in the house. I never specified an exact penalty for making too much noise. A child's imagination is a wonderful thing.
I made sure to eat the cake agonizingly slowly. I continued to talk to her between each bite. As for a topic, I settled on fabricating news about her family. With her mouth gagged and covered, it was a one-sided conversation.
"Going back to your mother this afternoon. There was something kind of troubling, but I think it's right for you to know. She told me to delete your wishlist from the computer. She wants for your new--- Oh! I forgot to mention! She was pregnant! It's going to be a baby girl, and they're naming her after you.
"Your mother was worried that it might be too scary for your new sister if she found out how you died before she was old enough. They think you're dead. They really want their new baby to have a normal, happy life without the trauma of knowing what happened to you. I know they're trying their best, but don't you think that's kind of sad? It was like they were trying to erase you and start over.
The girl was doing her best to keep quiet, but the thought of her parents abandoning her seemed to hit a nerve. A long, pained wail seeped through the leather patch.
Yikes. Maybe I overdid it. "Shh, shh, it's not your fault," I reassured her, "But you have to be quiet up here, remember?"
"Try to understand how hard it must be for them. I hope you won't hate them for it." I didn't need her to resent her family, I just wanted her to believe that her family had given up on her. I stopped eating for a while and put my arms around her lithe torso. We waited until she calmed down a little.
"Your baby sister has such a loving family. She's going to live the life you'll never live. She's going to read that copy of Th--- Aaahaha, I almost gave it away! You still don't remember the title of that book, do you? She's going to read that book your mother bought today, the one you ranked first on your wishlist. And she won't know that you ever existed.
Ugh, now I really wished all this was true. For one thing, it'll be a weight off my shoulders when her parents gave up. But also, I would love to show the girl pictures of her little sister, making her watch her replacement grow up and lead a normal life.
In any case, I was finally finished with the slice of cake. The girl looked mournfully at the empty plate that was meant for her, at the crumbs that remained from her only chance to eat something until next week. "Ah, that was so delicious! The vanilla frosting is unadventurous, but I love a traditional approach. And the cake had a really smooth texture that's pleasant to eat." I taunted her one last time, "What a shame you couldn't try it too!"
She was a mess. Her eyes were red. Tears flowed down her cheeks in great torrents. Some mucus had come out of her nose. She needed a bath. And for that, we'd go back down to the basement.
* * *
After the disappointing visit to the kitchen, the girl was back in her austere but familiar dwelling. The nightlight greeted her with its dull shine.
I turned the lights on, and they flickered to life. It made her uneasy to see the basement lit up. The lights meant that she wasn't alone, and more often than not, that something cruel and unusual was about to take place. Right now, she was to take a bath.
In terms of facilities, there was a wide utility sink for this purpose. She was small enough that she could take a bath in it, although she couldn't straighten her legs inside. A faucet came out of the wall above the sink, with a hose and sprayer available as well. Strictly speaking, she wouldn't precisely take a "bath;" it was more akin to a supine shower.
One of the nice things about bath time for her was that she didn't have to wear the gag. I'm going to be frank here: it's not to prevent the leather from getting wet. It's not real leather, and she drools on it all the time anyway. The straps just make it hard to wash her face.
I unbuckled the strap that goes behind her head. The metal ring clicked against her teeth on its way out. Usually she would take this opportunity to talk to me after being gagged for a long time. Somehow she didn't feel like saying anything this time.
I hung the coiled tube on one of the faucet handles and lifted her up from behind. I placed her face up in the sink, with her cuffed arms pinned under her body. She was relatively immobile in that position, and walls surrounded her on all sides. It was an intimidating arrangement.
"Before your bath, there's one order of business we need to discuss," I said. "You were not very well behaved upstairs today. First, you cut the cake bigger than you agreed to. People who don't keep their word don't deserve to live. Second, you cried out loud upstairs. I've warned you about making too much noise in the house. You're in trouble, missy."
"No! I'm sorry. It was an accident, I swear," she asserted, "It just ... I didn't mean to do it! I'm so sorry."
"Apologizing to me won't do anything for anyone. You can't un-disturb our sensitive neighbors. I have to punish you."
"Ahh, I don't want to be punished. Please don't make me starve to death," she begged. "I'm really going to die if it goes on any longer."
I guess that makes sense; she thought the major punishment was a lot of the normal punishment. Kind of anticlimactic. Goodbye, my sense of wonder. Why'd she even read all those fantasy books?
"Alright, since this is the first time, I'll give you a bargain. If you can endure a special punishment, I won't add to your current one. Do we have a deal?
"A special punishment ..." she repeated cautiously. "W-what is it?"
Uh-oh, what is it, really? Wait a minute, she wasn't in a position to ask things like that. "No questions," I snapped back, "You don't have to agree if you're afraid. You can always try going without food a little longer." I broke eye contact and scanned the room, searching for any ideas. "It's not too bad yet, right?"
I put a hand on her sunken stomach and gave it a deep rub. Her body rocked back and forth in the tub under the alternating force. She squeezed her legs together and grunted through clenched teeth, "Urrrgh!"
"You know, dying of starvation hurts a lot," I warned. "I'd feel bad for you." I withdrew my hand to let her ponder the situation.
She gulped, as if to gather up her courage. "Okay ... I'll do it."
"'Okay'? 'I'll do it'?" I mocked. "That's not how you accept a favor. Try again before I change my mind."
"Aaah I'm sorry. Please ... please let me have the special punishment! Anything, I'll definitely endure it."
"Ahaha, what a courageous girl you are. Very well, as you wish. Stay right there."
She watched me disappear over the edge of the sink. Her heart pounded with anxiety, and the surface surrounding her seemed to focus every beat into her head. She heard the clunk of her gag being put down. She heard cabinets and trunks open and close. The cramped sink started to feel like a coffin. My footsteps came closer. I was holding something out of view.
"Got it," I said, and I raised it up for her to see.
Her eyes widened. "That's, that's the ... What are you going to ..." she stammered. It was the bucket she peed into a few minutes ago. Before she could finish her sentence, the salty, lukewarm water cascaded onto her face. "Hmmmf!" she squealed. She quickly squeezed her eyes and mouth shut, trying to keep the vile stuff out. I poured it slowly to draw out the torture. Her head thrashed, trying to avoid the stream, but she couldn't get far.
A drop of the urine found its way up her nose. She reflexively coughed, propelling some droplets across her body. The movement from the cough made her bang her head in the sink. This would rapidly make a mess, so I stopped pouring momentarily.
"Hey, you still alive?" I asked. She groaned and tried to catch her breath. Her eyes remained closed. "Try not to move around, or you'll hurt yourself."
She was just panting, unresponsively. "Hey," I called out, "you listening?" I put my hand on her soaked face and pulled open her eyelids, allowing the briny substance to sting her eyes.
"Aaaahh ow!" she screamed. "I'm listening! Ah ... don't move around or I'll hurt myself," she echoed.
I released her eyelids and wiped off my fingers on a washcloth. Her eyes were red and irritated, but she resisted closing them while I was still talking to her. "And don't cough too much. If you get any pee out of the sink, you lose. You understand?"
She responded between pants, "Yes. I un---"
I cut her off again with a brief pour from the bucket. Catching her mid-word, the fluid splashed into her throat and made her cough and sputter violently. She wrenched her eyes shut once more.
"Ho ho ho, that was mighty close." Droplets of the pee had made it up almost to the edge of the sink. "This was a bad idea. I don't think you can do it. Let's see if you can survive without food until ... ehh, Monday. No, maybe Tuesday ..."
"No, please!" she pleaded, "I can endure this. I have to!"
"I don't know, what if you cough again? I really don't want you to mess up my basement," I said apprehensively.
"I definitely won't cough again. I promise!"
"Yeah, right! You coughed immediately after I told you not to."
"Ahh, that time was ... Please, I won't cough again," she reiterated.
"Tell ya what, I think I know a way you can do it. Let's put a washcloth over your head," I proposed, "That way, even if you cough, it won't make much of a mess. Does that sound good?"
As far as she knew, this would only help her endure this strange ordeal. She gratefully accepted the idea with a nod.
I laid the washcloth across her face and tucked the ends behind her head to keep it from being shaken off. "There, how's that?" I asked. Even through her closed eyelids, the cloth made things darker for her. The pee that was on her face and in her hair began to soak into the fabric, making it cling to her head.
"Thank you. I'll definitely endure it this time," she proclaimed in a muffled voice. She took a deep breath through the cloth and held it. Whoops, I wasn't supposed to give her a chance to do that. Her eyelids squeezed shut even tighter, rumpling up the cloth over her eyes. She drew in her neck in a defensive instinct. Her body trembled with nervous tension.
It wouldn't do much good to pour when she was so prepared for it. I needed to stall or something. "You look like you really hate this. Should we stop, maybe?" I questioned.
"Huh? No ... Don't stop, please."
"Eww, you dirty thing! You want to go on?" I teased.
"Yes, please. I'll be a good girl." She was getting the idea. She had to ask for it. "Please pour the ... please pour the pee." she requested. "On my fa---"
I stopped her mid-request by pouring the pee. On her face.
The pungent liquid ran through the washcloth and invaded her mouth and nose. She struggled to breathe as the wet fabric constricted around her head. Every exhale pushed precious air through the cloth, never to return. Every inhale drew liquid into her burning nostrils and throat.
The girl writhed in the sink. Her metal cuffs scraped against the metal basin and dug into her back. She ended up swallowing some of the offensive liquid, making her stomach heave. Her chest pumped dramatically in the simulated drowning. I poured until the bucket was empty.
At last the deluge stopped. It took almost as long as she took to expel it. The girl lay in the sink relatively still. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, with a raspy sound from her throat. She did her best to clear her throat without coughing. The wet cloth bulged around her mouth as her breath seethed through its pores.
I sprayed out the inside of the bucket and dumped the water by her feet. The cold water startled her as it ran to the drain by her butt. I took the saturated cloth off her head. "You did it," I congratulated her, "Looks like you'll be having food this weekend after all."
"Th-thank you," she sobbed, "Thank you so much. For the special punishment ... and letting me live."
"Look at you, being so polite while you look---and smell---like that!" I ridiculed, "Let's get you that bath."
* * *
I ran the dirty washcloth under the faucet and wrung it out. Cold water splashed over the side of her stomach. "Uaah, it's so cold!" she complained.
Warm water was for good girls. More importantly, permission to wait outside the sink while the water warmed up was a luxury reserved for girls who weren't dripping wet with their own pee. "Can't help it, dear. Just live with it," I told her. I went on to scrub her body in the frigid water.
Mild soap broke down days of sweat and made her skin lustrous and slippery. Back and front, the rough washcloth scrubbed every inch of her. Her thighs squeezed defensively against each other, but no sensitive crevice was spared. Shoot, we're almost out of shampoo. Or so I'd been thinking for the past few baths; I told myself I'd bring some more down here, but something always comes up before bath time to make me forget. It's convenient that the last little bit seems to last forever, you know?
The girl cowered from the sprayer as I tried to rinse her off. It took some inelegant manhandling to get everything. Droplets of cold water pelted her all over, pushing away the last of the suds.
The girl knelt shivering in one end of the sink. Her head down, water dripped from hair onto her chest and legs. The water had just barely warmed up. (Anyone know why that is, btw? The water heater is literally right across the room from us.) But we were done with the bath.
"While you're here, do you want to drink some water?" I asked. Water was okay during this regimen. Necessary, even.
She nodded. It was the only thing she could have in her stomach, so this was an important opportunity for her.
"Sure, just a sec." I ran the faucet in front of her. There was this really scary video on the Internet about how warm tap water is super gross, and you're not supposed to drink it. We waited for cold water to flush the pipes, which was amusing in and of itself, like making a dog wait for a treat. I reduced the flow to a thin column and signaled, "'Kay, go for it."
She leaned her mouth under the faucet and hungrily lapped up the water. It was comforting to have at least something in her belly. Eyes closed, she gulped down mouthful after mouthful, perhaps in reckless disregard of her tomorrow's self. In the morning, she would have to pee like hell.
She can be a little irresponsible with this kind of thing, so it was up to me to know how much is enough. At my (conservative) estimate, I reduced the flow gradually to a stop. The girl kept her head under the faucet to catch the last of the valuable water. She shot me a disappointed look.
"Come on, let's get you dried off," I said.
Drying off with a nice fluffy towel was probably the most comforting thing in her day-to-day life, so she's usually well behaved. It's a little complicated with her arms behind her back, so I've been taking off the cuffs for this. I patted down her skinny body with the towel. Now, I'm just gonna gloss over the hair drying procedure, because a) who cares, and b) I don't need everyone telling me how I've been doing it wrong and how I'm destroying this poor girl's hair. I dried off her hair, okay? It's fine. I used whatever you think I should use.
Next, I handed her the gag so she could practice putting it on herself. Starting with the easy part, she maneuvered the ring into her mouth, the bottom half, followed by the top. When you first start using a gag, part of the fun is figuring out all the straps and fasteners. The tidiest configuration for ladies is for the strap to run under the hair, hopefully without the hair interfering with the buckle. By now, she's discovered a reliable way to put it on by herself. She'll bend down and part her hair so that it hangs out of the way. Then, she'll bring the straps around her neck and buckle them with the use of both hands. Little girls are so clever these days. After demonstrating this piece of ingenuity, she stood up and turned around, holding her hair to the sides, to show off what a good job she did.
"Ah, not bad," I praised her. I squatted down and tugged on the ends to check the snugness of the fit. "Really. Good job."
She lowered her arms behind her back, ready to have the cuffs put back on.
"Look at that," I remarked, "you can be good if you try, can't you?" I put my hand on her shoulder and turned her to face me. "Let's not put the cuffs on just yet."
* * *
"I've got something for a good girl like you," I announced.
The girl drew her unrestrained arms up to her chest in a cautious gesture.
"A birthday present, of course!" I brought her a grocery bag and set it at her feet. "It's nothing special. Pick the one you want, and I get the other one."
She looked through the contents of the bag. A bag of chips. Food! (What a thing to find in a grocery bag.) And the other item in the bag? A can... Fruit cocktail. Yay, more food.
"Sorry I couldn't get you something more exciting. This was on pretty short notice. But these are useful too, right? Even when you can't get regular meals during a punishment, you can do whatever you want with your own possessions. So which one do you want?
Her eyes bounced between the two. She held the can to her chest. "Thih one," she decided. Maybe it was the heavier weight. Or was it the bright colors? "Can I hawe it now?" she asked. Okay, it wasn't the superior shelf life.
"Already yours, champ," I assured her, "Knock yourself out." I took the chips for myself.
She turned the can around in her hands a few times and piped up, "Auh, can you owen it?" At least, that's what her mouth said. The rest of her face said, "Are you fucking kidding me?"
"Oh, I see! You're still missing something important before you can eat it, huh? Well you're going to have to keep being a good girl if you want to borrow the can opener," I explained, almost breaking out into a dance for how annoyingly evil I was being. "Glad I don't need anything to enjoy these." I tore open the bag of chips and started munching on them. "Mmm, good choice. Salty chips are great after some sweet cake."
You could see the wheels turning in her head as she learned this stupid lesson.
She suddenly held out the can. "Can I hawe the chiws then?" she asked urgently. Tempting. Everything looks bigger when tiny hands are holding it, and I could get a lot of use out of maybe ten gallons of fruit cocktail. No! Focus. Surely bullying this cute girl was finer than any fruit cocktail could be. I resisted.
"Aww, these? You don't want these; there's hardly any left," I lied, shoving several chips into my mouth.
"Eaa staw, hlease! Yeh I do wan' thew!" She held out the can even further.
"No way, the chips are mine." I dragged my tongue across the top edge of the bag.
"Grrrh." She clutched the can back to her chest. It usually wasn't worth her energy to get mad, but this time she felt so close to being in control that her emotions boiled over. She gave me her best scowl from behind the gag. "Tha's so unhwair," she grumbled.
Now fellas, I'm just reporting what she said, but she was wrong. Yes it was fair. I let her choose first, after all. Birthday parties can turn children into monsters. Don't let them walk all over you.
We're just going to skip a couple of minutes here, because transcribing her gagged speech makes me want to shoot myself. Just take it that I managed to calm her down. The thing is, I had to agree to let her lick my fingers after I was done eating. She now sat on the floor facing me, watching me eat the last few chips, for real this time. The hands folded on her lap provided at least a veneer of the patience I had negotiated.
Her rapid breathing and fixated eyes suggested otherwise. The agreement prohibited any further shenanigans from me, so she was rather confident. I don't even remember how the heck she managed to work that into the deal. I need to pay more attention to these things.
There was no choice but to give her what she wanted. "Here." I held out my hand for her, as low as I could, as a statement of defiance.
The girl had to get down on all fours to reach my hand. She brushed her hair behind her ear and lowered her head to the floor. Her tongue moved quickly, swirling around my fingertips and squeezing between them. It had to work hard to pick up the slack from her immobilized lips. Short, choppy breaths buffeted my palm as she eagerly went to work.
The gag made it hard for her to control where her saliva went, and what didn't land on my hand fell to the floor in heavy strings. A thin layer of spit enrobed my fingers as she lapped up the salt and oil. Satisfied that she couldn't find any more nourishment, she pulled back and returned to a seated position. Aside from the wetness, she did a good job of cleaning up my hand. How about that? She was actually being useful.
I reached into the empty bag of chips and wiped off the inside onto my hand. She deserved to be spoiled a little, on her birthday if nothing else. "This is unexpectedly fun, so you can have a little more." I lowered my hand again, offering more salt, oil, and this time, even a few potato crumbs.
The girl dove in for my hand again. I felt her tongue from all angles as it scoured my fingers. Maybe I was enjoying this a little too much. This was something I wanted to commemorate with a photo. Snap. The flash on my phone went off, and her adorable subservience was recorded for eternity, or until I get a new phone. Whichever comes first. However, this had the effect of making the girl stop and look up with an expression like I had somehow betrayed her.
"I couldn't help it. You just look so goofy, down on your hands and knees with your tongue out like that!" I teased. That didn't make her feel any better. "Aww, what? It's not like I'm going to show your friends." Neither did that.
She took a shaky breath in. "Uo're so wean!" (mean?)
"Come on, it's just a picture. Would you finish this up and then I'll leave you alone?" I put away my phone and held out my wet hand, this time respectfully in front of her instead of on the floor.
She knelt up and turned away. Barely audibly, she muttered, "I don' wan' ih."
I had taken this too far. Now I was in a pickle. My hand was still dirty, and the girl was not willing to clean it for me. "Fine!" I responded, probably a little louder than I should have, making her flinch. I put my hand down and wadded up the empty bag. "See if I ever do anything nice for you again."
* * *
I was too ashamed to take my phone out again to check the time, but it had certainly been more than five minutes. "Break time's over," I informed her. "Go put yourself back on the hook." I washed my hands at the sink.
The girl picked up the coil of tube sitting next to her. The way she does it, she uses one hand to brace it against her thigh, so that the movement doesn't travel into her privates.
She scurried over to the hook and looped the tube over it. With her hands uncuffed, she could easily reach. Quickly turning her head to check how closely I was watching, she determined that she had better pull the tube tight. She gingerly pulled while breathing out and leaning into the wall. Tension spread up and down the tube, eventually hoisting her crotch up. She turned around again and confirmed that I was still looking on, now drying my hands on the damp towel. Her heels left the floor, her calves pressing her pelvis into the concrete in front of her.
She tied the tube around the hook, fastened her gag's cover, and used the last few moments of her hands' freedom to nervously adjust her hair. As she placed her arms together behind her back, I could see her shoulder blades shift. She mentally prepared herself to spend the final stretch of the day not moving an inch from this position.
I clicked the handcuffs into place and locked them. Now she could no longer reach the hook or her gag. She understood this well by now. It actually looked like she was concentrating on how best to position every joint in her body to minimize discomfort. And on how to spread out the pressure in her feet over time and space for optimal endurance. It felt like she could have designed a spacecraft with that kind of focus.
"This is yours, so hold on to it," I interrupted, referring to her fruit cocktail. I stuck the cold metal can between her warm thighs.
"Hmmp!" Her legs jerked from the sudden contact, and the tube dug itself in nice and snug. Her vulva stretched tight between her faltering perineum and the unforgiving tube. The obstacle between her legs hindered her efforts to regain balance.
She squeezed the can as instructed, compromising her meticulously planned posture. Her strength was diverted to keeping the can in place, leaving less available to support her body. The girl had a difficult time ahead of her.
On my way out, I unplugged the nightlight, remarking, "Big girls don't need these." I flicked off the lights and locked the door, leaving her alone as promised.
* * *
Later, when I was putting her to bed, she cried. She apologized for not licking my hand. It was dark and scary after I had taken the nightlight. She had a lot of time to reflect on all the ways she relied on me. She pledged to do what I asked, if I would please still do nice things for her. Maybe she was still a little afraid of the dark, but she was growing up.