Page 83 of Bottoms Up
The third, just over half.
The fourth, one mile, legs shaking, ass on fire.
Julian kissed my forehead.
“Good girl.”
I cried. Quiet, shoulder-shaking sobs from somewhere deep.
He held me through it, then walked me to the shower. Held me steady while he washed my tender places, washed everything else.
Then he dried me with slow, deliberate hands, helped me back to the bondage table, and strapped me back on.
Lube. Bardex poked back in as if my hole wasn’t raw. Balloons inflated. Clamp clicked open.
And my bowels twisted inside me again.
This time would be two and a half quarts. No longer body temperature. Cool, not cold, but the temperature hit harder than it should’ve. The cramps twisted worse right off the bat, and with the glycerin prep before the water went in, my insides felt like knives rotating in my gut. And the soap this time.Fuck. It felt like I was being filled with acid.
Julian didn’t speak.
He knelt behind me, stroked my pussy, teased my cock through the bars of the cage, fingered me slow and deep until I was gasping, shaking with need, right on the edge…
And stopped.
Double-checked my wrists and ankles to make sure they were securely bound to the table.
And walked away. Left me writhing.
And went back to Atlas.
* * * *
Julian
Atlas sagged as much as the restraints allowed, panting hard, sweat running in rivulets down his spine.
I released the air in both balloons.
The release came fast — too fast to be clean, too violent to be quiet. But there was no shame in it. No smell, no mess. The magic of shapeshifting.
I wiped him down without comment. Efficient. Unemotional.
The final bucket was already full of plain water. Cool, edging towards cold.
Four quarts. Thick. Heavy.
“Let’s go over what we’re putting in this cocktail,” I said.
Silver moaned behind me. She was curled on the table again, arms and ankles bound, a glossy pool where her cock leaked onto the padded vinyl through the bars of the cage.
I turned back to the job at hand.
“Fresh grated ginger. Dried cayenne pepper — powdered, for even distribution. And cinnamon oil, for a slightly different kind of heat.” I stirred it well, the scent biting my nose, my sinuses, my eyes. I tapped the stainless spoon against the rim of the stainless bucket.
Atlas whimpered.
I smiled.
