Page 41 of Bottoms Up (Mythic Beast #4)

Julian

This playroom had everything we needed.

Smooth cement floor. Drain in the center. Strong water hose. Open toilet in the back corner.

Atlas knelt where I’d placed him, already sweating from the strain.

Arms pulled tight behind his back in a reverse prayer, wrists cuffed high between his shoulder blades.

Shoulders locked down with chest straps that forced his upper body forward.

Knees brutally spread wide, thighs braced with a bar to keep them so.

Ankles strapped to the floor with rubber cuffs and stainless chains.

He could breathe. He could blink. That was it.

He hadn’t spoken since he entered the room.

The Bardex-style nozzle was already in — a modern version, repurposed and reinforced, latex lined and inflated. The main balloon would seal him internally, the external one sat flush to his skin, holding it in place. He wouldn’t be expelling anything until I deflated them both.

The first bag hung overhead. One quart. Body temperature. Thickly soaped.

Silver sat nearby, naked, bare legs folded, watching. Her cock was already twitching, already leaking inside the jailbird cage I’d put it in, held on with a harness since she doesn’t have balls.

Her body responded to Atlas’s predicament the same as mine — not just arousal, but intent .

Also, some anticipatory fear, since she knew she’d be getting enemas when I finished with Atlas. Not as extreme because she’s human, but they’d still hurt plenty.

And that was the surrender part of Silver I find so fucking beautiful.

She hates extreme enemas. Fears them. Detests them.

But she didn’t argue. I said it would happen, and so it will.

That’s the distinction, the progression between agreement and obedience.

She’d consented long ago, and now sat quietly and waited her turn for pain and misery.

But first, Atlas.

I opened the clamp.

Atlas’s breath hitched.

He didn’t moan, but I saw it — the second his body realized the time had arrived. The clench of his stomach. The tension in his thighs.

His cock, caged and spiked, jerked with useless need.

“It’s only the first,” I told him. “A marathon of pain, today into tonight.”

The Vegas coterie had given him a send-off the night before we left, and I understand he had hours of torture from a half-dozen vampires.

Still, I’d wanted to give him his first session sooner.

We were well within the first week, but he’d had the stress of a new place without the centering comfort of the pain he needs.

Tonight was about fixing that, but also assuring him we could repeat the intensity of that first scene. That he’d made the right decision, coming here.

I watched the bag drain. A moderate gravity feed. I wanted the cramping to build, but I also didn’t want to bore him. That low, bloated twist in the gut, destined to move higher. Soap burning the walls of the rectum. Water coming in a little faster than he thought he could handle.

Later, it would be a lot faster. But we’d get there.

By the time the quart was gone, Atlas was sweating through his chest straps.

His jaw stayed tight, teeth clenched, every muscle trembling under the strain of restraint and fullness.

I looked at the time and crooked a finger at Silver.

She walked toward me slowly — not hesitant, exactly, but wary. Her cock twitched once, mostly-hard from watching, but her expression was pinched.

I cupped her ass. Kissed her jaw.

“Your turn,” I said.

Her eyes went wide.

“Wait, I thought it was after . Not while .”

“Yes, after each of his, you get my attention while he suffers. Bulb first.” I kissed her cheek. “It won’t be terrible. But if you release before I say you can…” I lifted her chin with two fingers, eyes locked on hers. “I’ll lube your hole with pepper oil next time, to make way for the nozzle.”

She swallowed hard. Said nothing.

“Onto the table. Left side, stellina. ”

My little star.

She climbed onto the padded bench and curled onto her left side, ass angled toward me, legs bent just enough. I lubed the bulb — thick, slippery, warm — and slid it into her hole.

The first squeeze made her hiss. Her body wanted to push it out reflexively, muscles clenching against the invasion. I pressed a hand against her low back to still her. “Take it,” I ordered. And she did.

The bulb came out. Back into the water. Back into her ass.

I didn’t rush.

Four trips into the water. Four squeezes total. A little over half a quart.

Her body tensed more with each one.

“Hold it,” I said. “Ten minutes.”

She clenched her teeth. “I can’t last that long, Sir!”

“Then your asshole will burn, mon trésor .”

She glared at me. I smiled.

Atlas whimpered behind me — not words, just an escaped sound. Good .

Time passed slowly.

At four minutes, Silver shifted. At five, she whined and moaned, bit her lip hard enough to leave an imprint.

Her cock twitched involuntarily, caught in the feedback loop of pain and humiliation. There was no pleasure in it — just nerves and obedience. She wasn’t enjoying this even a tiny bit, but she was surrendering to it. For me.

At seven minutes, she broke.

“Please, Sir! Please can I go to the bathroom? Please?”

“No.”

Her breathing picked up. Her thighs trembled. “Oh, God! I can’t hold it! Please!”

She pushed with her arms, and I pressed her body back to the table — and kept my hand there.

So much for total surrender, but that was okay. I had her at the edge of what she could handle.

Nine minutes.

“Julian, please—I can’t—I’m gonna—fuck— please! ”

“No.”

Ten .

I lifted my hand. “You may go to the toilet and release.”

She scrambled off the table like her body was on fire and ran to the open commode in the corner. I didn’t give her privacy. I watched.

I always watch.

Silver is mine and she doesn’t get to hide anything from me. I watch because I can, because it reminds her just how owned she is. That she’s mine to hurt. Mine to debase. Mine to love.

No part of her is off-limits to me. Not even this. I squeezed the water into her bowels, and I watch while she shits her guts out with no privacy, no dignity, no escape.

This is what belonging to a Strigorii vampire looks like: no modesty, no shield, no mercy. Just obedience, exposure, and exquisite surrender.

It also means love. Adoration. Ruthless protection.

But she wanted an owner, and she damn well has one now.

I stay within her boundaries and don’t dictate her life, but she surrendered her sexuality and her body. Those are mine.

When she came back, flushed and breathing hard, I pointed. “Back on the table. You have a one-quart soapy one coming. The Bardex goes in first.”

She whimpered.

I lubed the nozzle and worked the balloon in carefully — she was already sore because I’d fucked her ass daily for… I’d lost track. It’d been a while.

I could’ve made the nozzle insertion worse, fast without lube, but I wanted her to suffer, not tear. There’s a difference. She trusts me. I’d hurt her, sure, but without injuring her.

When the water started, she gasped, her hands clenching the table’s edge. I connected her wrists together, and then to the table. For good measure, I connected her ankles together, too. She could move around to try to ease the cramping, but she wasn’t going anywhere.

Atlas, on the other hand, couldn’t move a muscle. I could scent his pain, his agony. So much worse than my Silver’s, though hers had been substantial for the bulb, and would only get worse with the super-soapy solution draining into her body.

I only slowed the flow twice, so it didn’t take terribly long to go in, but oh, the drama . You’d have thought I was injecting acid.

“I’m allowing you to lie on your left side to give you a measure of comfort.” I moved to the side drawer and pulled out the chopsticks. “But because you didn’t do so well with the bulb, we’ll start with these on your tongue. Open wide, my lovely.”

She opened her mouth, already panting. One end of the chopsticks was already rubber-banded, and I closed them over her tongue and secured the other side. Not terribly tight, so she’d have blood flow to the end, but enough they’d stay put.

And then I pinched her nipples between my fingers.

She cried out, wailed . No words, though. Chopsticks allow sound with no enunciation.

I didn’t stop.

Torture on this day would be about rhythm, not chaos. Pain is a language. Spikes and valleys, repetition, surprise. Anyone can cause pain, but Silver needed something deliberate to balance the cramps. Something she could climb like stairs to the edge of madness.

Clamp. Tighten. Release. Clamp again.

When her body was flushed and soaked and twitching, I stood.

“Stay where you are.” Heh . Okay, so I’m a smartass, sometimes.

I walked back to Atlas.

My cock was throbbing with need. My fingers still smelled like Silver’s fear and pain.

But Atlas needed me more. He’d been alone with his pain long enough.

His face was pale. His chest heaved. His eyes were glassy with effort, still locked forward.

“Time to release.”

He didn’t speak. I hadn’t asked a question.

I released the nozzle and a waterfall gushed from his gut. Loud, violent expulsion onto the floor, quickly disappearing down the drain, but there was no shit. He’d changed to cat form that morning and had only been allowed clear liquids since.

While he emptied, I readied his next. Three quarts this time. Soap and glycerin. Cooler temp.

I hung the bucket. Re-lubed the nozzle.

“Ready, Muscles?”

It didn’t matter if he was or not, but asking him made him more a part of his own torture. More intimate. More personal.

He nodded, and I said, “Answer with words, painwhore.”

“Yes, Sir. I’m…” A three-beat pause. “Ready, Sir.”

I opened the clamp.