. There was no home, no public: only sprawling campuses where they could be kept, away from the prying eyes of the hard-working and the sexually conservative. This was partially for their protection; prisoners whose time had been purchased by individuals enjoyed at least the illusion of protection, in the form of rooms and suites where they were checked on daily. In theory it kept some from being dismembered in a basement, but regulations were lax. An individual who accidentally whipped a prisoner to death, for example, might find himself on the wrong end of a fine. Four-oh-five-three could expect treatment if she was found with bed sores or a UTI, but if this man decided not to feed her, or to batter her, or to pull out her pubic hairs one by one with a pair of tweezers, well... she was on her own.
It was another eighteen hours before she found herself in the room he kept. She had stayed the night in her cell, hungry, and been delivered back to the exam room for fasting bloodwork, and then had joined a coffle of other prisoners in a delivery van that had dropped most of them off all at once. Where that had been, 4053 hadn't seen. She and another prisoner had been brought to a long-term hotel and processed into rooms. She had expected Nate to be waiting for her when she was delivered, but the room was empty -- of people, anyway.
The suite was built for a free person to live in, but without an accompanying captive, it would have been pointless, as much of the floor space was lost to various accoutrements and supplies that a sexually unadventurous free person would have had little use for. There was an adjustable horse and an examination table that was similar to the one 4053 had been placed in the day before. Even the bed was designed for sex; it had multiple attachment points for restraints, and the footboard was a stocks, with holes for a captive's wrists and neck. The most significant piece was the cell in the corner, which turned out to be her first stop. It contained a bed whose size and shape would have been better suited to a large dog; it was not long enough for her to lie in without bending her knees. Nor did the cell extend to the ceiling. It was more of a cage, 4053 thought, as the door closed behind her. The attendant made sure it was locked, and then walked around the room, switching lights on. He turned down the real bed -- Nate's bed -- and left.
Four-oh-five-three sat on her own little bed, chained by the wrists to a metal ring in the wall. She wore the manacles and the rough uniform dress that she had been given at the facility, and wondered if that would change. Would he decorate her? She wasn't sure. She drew her legs up beneath her and sat against the wall, as far away as she could get from the door. What would she do when he walked in? Where would she look? Would he expect her to do anything? Not for the first time, she was glad for the restraints. They meant fewer decisions for her to make.
It was evening before the door opened again. She couldn't see it from her cage, but heard the heavy hotel door swing open, and then the sound of boots on a hard floor. When he passed her on the way to the bathroom, he only glanced at her. It was enough to make her stomach drop in fear. What would it be like, she wondered, to be raped? He would be inside her shortly, she was certain of it, and there would be absolutely nothing she could do about it. What if it hurt? What if he hurt her? The shower came on, and she worked herself into a near panic as the water ran.
He emerged from the bathroom half-dry, with a towel around his waist. "Your turn," he said, and he opened the cage door. Four-oh-five-three knew she should be meek and compliant, but it was too much, and as he leaned over her, warm, smelling of soap and aftershave, she lost her composure. She wasn't even certain what she did, only that she was struggling against him one moment, and the next he had her by the upper arm and was holding her pressed down to her side against the cage bed. "Hey. Hey. Calm down. You're okay." His grip was like iron, but his voice was gentle. "Gather yourself."
He kept her there for long seconds, until her breathing slowed.
"All right. Good. Here's what's going to happen. I'm going to give you another shower, just like yesterday. We're going to take our time with it. I'll rub some lotion on you. Then we'll go to the bed." Quietly, he described what he was going to do to her, and how it wouldn't hurt. How it was going to happen, but he would give her time to collect herself. By the time he pulled her upright, she had her fear well enough under control that he could lead her to the shower. There was another ring like the one in her cage, and he attached her to it and ran the water, and shed his towel.
Four-oh-five-three would not have described this shower as "luxurious," given that she didn't have any choice in the matter, but it was certainly more detailed than the one she'd received the day before, and, oddly, gentler. He washed her with his hands and made sure to touch her everywhere, from her face to the soles of her feet, from her scalp to her nipples to her inner labia. When he was done, he toweled her off and repeated the operation with a bottle of lotion. Four-oh-five-three hated, as she had the day before, how touch made her skin feel, how both pleasant and invasive it was at the same time.
True to his word, he did not surprise her. He explained what he was going to do before he did it. She stood still while he shaved beneath her arms and inspected her pubic hair (trimmed short a few days before, to avoid the taunts she would have expected had she turned herself in with a bush or a wax), and shifted her weight so he could clip her toenails. Instead of unchaining her from the ring to clip her fingernails, he leaned against her and reached up to do it, and the intimacy of having her fingers handled while his erection pressed against her lower back was... well, it was something. She needn't have feared that she'd be dry when the time came. If this had been mere roleplay, she'd have been impatient for him to take her.
He didn't give her a chance to struggle or escape. He walked her straight to the bed with her hands manacled behind her, and held her face-down on the bedspread. She kicked, reflexively, and he caught her leg. "It's not happening yet. Lie still." The sideboards, which consisted of grids of heavy iron bars that came up only just to mattress-height, had multiple attachment points, and he chained her left leg to one. Then he leaned over her and opened the nightstand drawer, and fiddled with something at length. She could see only the opposite nightstand and the wall. He had mentioned this too, but she still jumped with surprise when he pressed a finger into her anus. He had to work it past her sphincter but didn't order her to relax; he just rotated it until it slipped in, and then he slid it in and out of her. Four-oh-five-three kicked, more out of protest than any real attempt to get away. No one had ever done this to her outside of a medical setting. It was inconceivable that she couldn't stop it, and it was even worse than having fingers put in her vagina.
The humiliation was overpowering, but what should she feel humiliated about?
None
of this was consensual. She tried to focus on that.
He slid another finger in, and now she felt full, as though she was about to defecate. He moved his fingers around in a circular motion, pushing at the walls of her anus, and pushed until his knuckles pressed against her perineum. It could have easily been painful, but he went slowly enough that it didn't hurt. It would after awhile, she knew, or if he tried to put another finger in. She lay still while he held her down, his other hand on the back of her neck, and moved his fingers in and out of her.
He withdrew them completely after a moment, and she was mercifully empty for nearly a minute, until he pressed something cold and hard into her sphincter. She had thought she couldn't feel further violated, but as he eased the anal plug into her body, she knew she had been wrong.
Four-oh-five-three tried to push it back out, but instead it slipped in more easily. This, he had told her, would make their eventual anal play less painful or even entirely painless. It was a more humiliating feeling than anything she had experienced thus far, even that horrific orgasm in the examination room. She tried again to push the plug out, but couldn't.
He turned her over and attached her other ankle to the other side of the bed. Her legs were spread wide, but she could still move them and sit up somewhat comfortably. He unclipped her wrists and left her there, hunched, burning with shame and hugging her chest, while he went to tidy the bathroom.
Four-oh-five-three inspected the attachments. He had fitted her with soft restraints during the shower. They were dark leather, with iron reinforcement that gave them a masculine, foreboding look. Had 4053 chosen them as a fashion accessory, they would have said something far different about her; as a captive, they only made her feel small and powerless. They fit better than the irons she had worn in the intake facility, and though they were tighter, they were more comfortable and chafed less. Both sets -- the ones on her wrists and the ones on her ankles -- had D-rings at each quarter that lay against the iron when they weren't in use. A quick link dangled from one wrist cuff, which must have been how her wrists had been attached to each other. The D-rings in her ankle cuffs were attached to the eye hooks in the sideboards with swivel snaps. Given enough time, she might be able to stretch herself enough to work one leg free, but then what? The door wouldn't open without the sensor on Nate's lanyard. She would be naked, or in a uniform, with a tracker in her hip, in a guarded hotel on a guarded campus. And she suspected he would not be so gentle with her if he had to get dressed to retrieve her from whoever would catch her. Similarly, she could probably remove the plug with her hands free, but what would he say when he came back and found it no longer inside her? The crop he carried at work was sitting near the door, almost inviting him to use it.
He emerged from the bathroom carrying a matching collar.
Here we go
, 4053 thought, and she took a deep, shaky breath. She didn't fight when he sat down on the bed and lifted her hair from her neck. He buckled it tighter than she had hoped. It wouldn't choke her, but its touch at the base of her throat made it difficult to ignore.
He sat in the space between her legs and pushed her down on her back, and then took her hands and held them gently, his thumbs pressing into her palms. She tried to pull away, and his grip tightened, but only just. When he leaned across her, he put all his weight into her pelvis, and released her hands to toy with her nipples. Four-oh-five-three tried again to push him away, but he only brushed her hands away from his. He took her nipple into his mouth and rolled it around on his tongue, and nibbled at it, firmly enough that she stopped fighting him and held her breath, afraid that he would bite down.
His other hand wandered down and felt between her legs. When he brought it back up, he cupped her jaw and moved his own mouth, sucking and kissing, from her breast to the side of her neck. She squirmed and tried again to push him away.
