Page 59 of Savage

How dare she do this to me.

“Don’t you fucking dare spill any of it,” I tell her, pulling the nozzle out. “You’ll hold it all for ten minutes.”

“Ten—” she croaks, but she stops speaking when she sees the look in my eyes.

I must look crazed, deranged, but that’s what she’s reduced me to—and I will fucking punish her for pushing me to act this low.

“Now get onto your back,” I say.

Stef obeys, if clumsily, and I regard her. I finally turn off the shower, which feels like more of a reprieve than she deserves, but I want to touch her without getting soaked in turn.

Her belly’s swollen and distended, and for the first time, I think I understand some men’s kink for pregnant women. Not that I want her to get pregnant—especially when she’s stupid enough to taint her body like this, again and again—but it’s enough to make me think I should do this to her again.

I reach down, massaging her stomach with my gloved hand, and her eyes widen. She wordlessly shakes her head, trembling violently already.

“If you didn’t want to be punished, you shouldn’t have provoked me,” I say, pushing just enough to make her whimper again. “Was that your way of trying to get my attention? You couldn’t handle being alone for twenty fucking minutes?”

“No! It wasn’t. I just… Your family… Everyone… I felt…” She babbles on nonsensically, and I have no idea what she’s trying to say.

Granted, my family could probably drive anyone to drink, but they hadn’t been that bad. She’d been so good to choose water instead of wine, and I’d thought that might be a mild improvement, a sign of change that she greatly needed.

I’d been wrong.

At least she’s stopped trying to speak, only answering my prods to her stomach with high-pitched cries of misery. She stares at me, and the pleading in her tear-filled eyes just has me getting harder and harder. If I lacked any more self-control, I’d be opening my pants and stroking myself, and…

Why the hell not?

I stop touching her and reach down to unfasten my fly, letting my cock free of the confines of my clothing. I let out a deep breath of relief, staring down at her. I could just stroke myself to completion over her, but it feels like a waste after cleaning out her ass.

Then again, she’s still unclean. No amount of water can wash away her betrayal; no measure of tears can make me easily forgive her for it.

I get up without a word, going back to the cabinet and finding the pack of condoms from there. It’s not the same as taking her bare, but I can’t stand the thought of getting her filth on me.

The enema should make her clean, but the filth goes beyond body-level, straight into her mind and soul.

Unsurprisingly, she’s still crying when I get back, lying on her back and clutching her swollen stomach. She looks up at me, her lips forming the word “please” before she sees the condom in my hand.

“Get up,” I say. “You may empty yourself in the toilet now. Do not make a mess.”

She’s shaking as she forces herself into a seated position, her cheeks flushed and her breath coming in short gasps. She swallows hard and looks at me, then the toilet, then back. After a brief pause, she starts to get up, and water trickles down the inside of her leg. She sobs, and I can see her squeeze more tightly as she gets out of the shower stall and stumbles to the toilet.

Despite the way her cheeks flush even more, Stef lets go, the unpleasant sounds filling the room. I’ve seen worse, heard worse, and I watch her impassively.

Her misery keeps my cock hard.

“Get back into the shower and clean yourself properly,” I order her when she’s finished.

She looks wrung out and miserable, incessant tears falling and falling, and I wish I could lick them away. If she hadn’t fucked up so badly, I might’ve kissed them away, made her feel a bit better.

But no. She’d brought this upon herself.

She’s flushed red despite how her teeth chatter, and she sobs as she walks back to the shower. Her hand lingers on the tap before she turns the water back on—and I note with a little satisfaction that she doesn’t attempt to turn the water warm.

It takes her a few tries to pump soap out onto the loofah and wash herself. I watch dispassionately as she scrubs her cunt and hole.

She’s still not clean.

No amount of water and soap can make her clean.

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