"Phew, it reeks in here, someone got a little sweaty last night huh?"
The light peeled away his vision like fire on film-reel, and he saw nothing but blinding white as his cell door slid open. The brightness made his head throb, his sight returning in pulses as he adjusted to the glare. Jane's outline stepped towards him, and stopped. She was looking at his distended stomach. "What the hell?"
She opened a hatch on the mirrored cell wall, revealing a console behind it, and muttered to herself as she reviewed the night's events. "Normal, normal, okay... huh, here's the crash, what happened after—"
She burst out laughing, and turned to look at Sasha. "Double enema huh? Aww, has poor baby been holding this all night?" she mocked. A not-at-all gentle slap to his swollen belly made him howl into his gag as waves of pain and nausea crashed through him. "Don't worry, honey, it won't do any lasting harm."
Turning back to the monitor, she continued looking through the log. "Hmm, right, right... Y'know, your training performance is a little below average, Sasha," she said, glancing over her shoulder, "I expected better out of you, not that it really matters right now, but in the future I will expect better. Anyway, lets see the rest of your stats, hm... Vital signs are normal, actually surprisingly good for the stresses you've been under. No warning signs for DVT, looks like the muscle stimulation did its job there, solid waste is not applicable, liquid waste..."
She placed a latex-gloved hand under Sasha's chin, the rubber sticking to his clammy skin, and made him look upwards. With her other hand she pointed to a plastic bag suspended from the ceiling. A tube led from the bag, and though he couldn't see the entire length, he knew from the dark yellow colour of the liquid in the bag that it led to his catheter.
"Looks like there's only a cup in there, guess you sweat more than you pissed last night huh?" She disconnected the tube from his catheter, and in spite of his muffled protests she reconnected it to his cock gag. With a twist of a valve, the dark liquid flowed down from the IV bag and directly into Sasha's mouth. It was overwhelmingly salty, the musk so concentrated that it felt chemical and nauseating, the smell filling his sinuses as he almost choked on it. It did nothing to take his mind off of the strain in his stretched-out hips or the cramps in his stretched-out guts.
"That's a strong brew, right? Speaking of which, I've gotta go finish my coffee. That bag better be empty when I come back, Sasha. You don't wanna know what Doctor Rose did to the last boy who wouldn't drink his own piss," she warned, before shutting the cell door behind her.
By the time she returned he was sucking on an empty bag, which earned him a coo of praise and a hand to ruffle his sweat-drenched hair. Piece by piece she unhooked him from his bondage, lowering his legs and arms out of the stress position until he was back in a fetal position on the floor. She took off his visor, clarity and focus coming to the tiny mirrored cell as she fiddled with the cables on the headset. After rolling him onto his back, she pressed a button on the console, and the rigid support structure in his bodysuit went limp. The lack of pressure on his ribs and back made the enema settle strangely inside him, no less or more painful than before, but different. He whimpered as she peeled the bodysuit off him part-by-part, afraid to look directly at her in case she took it as insolence.
Some time later she stood up. He was naked except for his wrists cuffed behind his back, a ring gag in his mouth in place of the cock gag, and the metal girdle keeping his cock cage, butt plug—and, to his consternation, his oversized enema—firmly in place. She took the rest of the spare equipment out of the cell and left.
Seconds after the door clicked shut behind her, cold water blasted out from the ceiling. He squealed for a moment and almost choked as it sprayed into his mouth, straining to turn his neck enough that it wouldn't drown him. The spray was powerful but it wasn't filling up the cell, and must have been draining out underneath him. Between his weakened muscles and his swollen belly he couldn't do a thing except writhe miserably. He was grateful when the shower stopped and Jane came in to collar him.
"C'mon, get up," she said, lifting him by his hair. "Crawl on all fours if you gotta, but I'm a whole lot nicer to boys who stand up."
He locked his knees straight as he rose and toppled backwards from the cramps in his stomach that it caused, but Jane caught him, and kept him mostly upright. Her one arm was carrying a lot of his weight, but Sasha did his best to stand on his own. He didn't want to find out what she'd do if she thought he was slacking intentionally. The hallway outside his cell was lit by long fluorescent strip lights. As Sasha was led out into it, he saw the others and cried out in shock.
The opposite side of the hallway was not a solid wall, but a series of perspex cages stacked three high, see-through cubes not even a meter across, each one with a terrified young man inside, some a little older than Sasha, some a little younger. One cube had a pair of very slender teens crammed inside, their bodies forced into a cramped sixty-nine, heads between each other's thighs and cocks buried in each other's mouths. Another cube had a red-haired twink rolled up on his shoulders with his ankles by his ears and his electrostim-rigged cock pointing an inch away from his forced-open mouth, his face glazed in his own cum. Some of the boys were blindfolded, some were filled with absurdly thick toys, all were gagged in one way or another with tubes leading into and out of orifices and into holes in the back of the wall. Most of the boys looked at Sasha and Jane with fear; a few looked at him with envy.
"Don't gawk, they're all very self-conscious," said Jane.
As he was yanked by the collar, he saw that the other side of the hallway was made of tall, narrow cells like the one he was in, and that each door was a one-way mirror. His cell was now the only one that was empty, the others were filled with young men restrained in similar ways to him, though some were in different stress positions, like one boy struggling atop a spanish donkey, and a tanned twink with highlights in his dirty blonde hair standing on his tiptoes who had apparently been strung up to the ceiling by his tongue piercing.
He was taken to a familiar hallway, with double-doors to the garage in front of him, and the bathroom he'd first been into after leaving the van to the side. Jane pointed to the garage. "That there is where you'll start work today," she said, and then pointed to the bathroom, "and that there is your last chance to have your enema drained before I set you to work. What do you think, should I drain you out?"
Sasha nodded desperately, whining through his open mouth. She got in close to him, bit his ear hard, and gave his belly another agonizing slap. "There are things you've taken for granted, boy," she growled, "things like solid food, free and available air, and defecation, these things are privileges now. If you're bad and you need regular enemas because you haven't earned the freedom to use the bathroom by yourself, you soon won't be able to shit at all without assistance. Your body will lose the muscles and reflexes it needs to do it, and you'll be like that forever. So, if you don't want to need enemas every day for the rest of your life, you'd better be a good boy, you hear me?"
