The Bathhouse: Part 10

I had a life. I had Dan. Now, what am I doing? Crawling like a dog on cold marble...

Continued from The Bathhouse: Part 9

Created by author with Midjourney

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It retreated again. That insufferable, maddening appendage that had slid inside me in my sleep, wriggling and expanding until it filled all my secret crevices, had, once I was writhing and yanking my shackles and pleading for release, remorselessly slipped out of me, leaving me panting and shaking, with tears leaking from the corners of my eyes.

How much fucking longer.

“How much fucking longer!” I shout. This outburst is met with a smattering of grumbles.

“God, shut up,” a woman’s voice mumbles.

“Hey! She’s new. Be nice,” another reproaches softly. It sounds like Alice.

There are several women in the room with me, so it must be nighttime. Not that I can tell with the hood Alice had, with an apologetic smile, pulled over my head earlier that day. Stupid Alice and her stupid stories about “loving” this experience. If I could see the ceiling right now, I’d be burning holes in it. The dildo begins snaking back into my slit - not again - and I bite my lip. My nerves are screaming. I am no stranger to edging, but this is the most extreme version I have ever experienced.

“We could gag her-”

A door clicks open and the room hushes, bated breaths replacing whispered conversations. A slow, heavy tread crosses the room, and stops by my bed. With a creak of leather, I sense that the figure is leaning over me. The tentacle dildo retracts.

“You mustn’t cause a disturbance for the other girls,” comes the barely audible whisper. The voice is still strange. He must be wearing a mask again.

“Vlad,” I hiss. He growls.

“Take a walk with me, my pet.”

He unshackles me. I sit up and rub my wrists and ankles, glad to be rid of the restraints. He catches my wrists as I start to push up the hood and holds them tightly.

“No.”

I glare at him from behind the hood.

“Get down on the ground,” he purrs. “On all fours.”

I make no move to comply.

“Always so stubborn,” he murmurs, with a touch of amusement. “Would you prefer I tie you into position?”

“No.”

“No, what?”

I know what you want. But no to that, too. Fuck your “sir.” I remain silent, eyes needling the darkness of my hood in his direction.

He seems to weigh to what extent I should be punished for my petulance.

“Well, then. On all fours like a good girl.”

Hot-faced, I slide off the bed and kneel on the cold marble. My juices slither down my thigh.

“All fours. I won’t say it again.”

Begrudgingly, I drop to my hands.

“Spread your knees.”

I do, feeling exposed as the cool air tickles the fork of my legs. Just like that day at the bathhouse, splayed out on the bench, when I was a consciousness rotating with the surface of the earth, body trailing behind. When two warm arms held me tight against a naked chest and a happy smile peeked through a brown beard. Tears sting the backs of my eyeballs. I had a life. I had Dan. Now, what am I doing? Crawling like a dog on cold marble with a desperate, wet cunt waving in the air behind me.

Something firm and thick and rubbery penetrates me, driving all thought from my skull. I suck in a breath.

“Is it too much?” my handler asks quietly.