Page 45 of Magnum, Volume 1

5:30: Go to the dungeon and stand in inspection pose on the X. Face the mattress platform.

He’d asked me a few days earlier, during dinner when I had to answer, about my experience with enemas. I’d told him the truth, of course. A Dom I visit a handful of times a year uses them for punishment, and one I’d been involved with years earlier was a clean freak about anal, and I’d been required to thoroughly clean myself out before I went to him.

“Any questions, cunt?” he asked when I looked up from the paper after reading through it several times.

I forced myself to think, and said, “I assume you’ll have the equipment and the soap in my bathroom when it’s time, Sir?” I stared at the X on the floor when I asked him. He doesn’t like for me to speak to him while not looking at him, but this wasn’t high-protocol, and I couldn’t look at him in that moment. Not while I was facing his calm, detailed, logistical arrangements.

“Yes,” he answered. “This happens during normal hours, so you aren’t in the cincher. Also, while I can enjoy giving punishment enemas when one is called for, maintenance enemas aren’t my thing. Turns me on more to know you’re having to prepare yourself for me, than for me to do it. Any more questions?”

“No, Sir.” I managed to say it without my voice shaking, but the visual of me having to do this alone while he was turned on by it, off in another room, made my knees go a little weak. He was making me responsible for preparing my body for what was to come. He’d just taken the plug out, so my hole clenched around nothing while dread sank into my stomach — and lower.

“I have some work to do for the club today,” he said, “so I’ll be in the office. Don’t interrupt me unless it’s important. The day is yours, but we had such a full breakfast because it’s possibly all you’ll get today. We might have a late evening meal, after. We’ll see how things go. You may have as much water, lemonade, or tea as you want, but nothing else passes your lips.”

He kissed my forehead. “If you’ll make me a huge salad and put it in the fridge before you head upstairs to stand on the X, I’ll fix myself a steak to cut up and put into it when I’m ready to eat. You know what I like.”

He turned to leave, and then stopped in the doorway to add, “Don’t leave the house. Not even into the screened-in porch. Stay inside.”

And then he was gone.

Fuck me. This was really happening today.

I had a while before I needed to get started, and I tried to read to get my mind off it, but nothing worked. Eventually, it was time, and I gathered the equipment so the water would start flowing into me at noon.

If I could’ve masturbated while holding the enemas, maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad, but the process was hell — the cramps, the pressure, the slow, humiliating process of evacuating everything stored in my colon. And the whole time, the reason I was having to do this ran through my head in a loop. In a few hours he was going to bend me over and drive his thick, textured, monstrous cock into my ass, and he was going to enjoy my tears.

And I was the one carefully, obediently preparing my body for him to hurt me.

When five thirty came, I went to the dungeon and saw the X on the floor, made with blue tape, ten feet from the mattress platform.

I was barefoot, not wearing a plug or my cincher, and I had to stand with my hands locked behind my head and stare at the actual surface where he was going to place me so he could force his cock into my ass. A pristine, white fitted sheet was on the mattress, waiting for the inevitable, and the longer I looked at it the harder my stomach twisted.

The minutes crawled by while I stared at the place where he was going to hurt me and violate me.

Chapter 20

Magnum

I went into the dungeon at 5:45 and ordered, “Jump up, cunt.”

Her breath hitched, but she quickly moved to the bar, jumped up, and grabbed it.

That little catch in her breathing went straight to my cock. Not to mention the scents she was giving off — fear, dread, and a really dark thread of arousal. She knew what would happen on the bar. Knew the cincher and plug were coming. I let her hang there a good fifteen seconds — arms stretched, body tense, and felt my own dark satisfaction settle in.

She got a shorter waist cincher today. Still boned, but it didn’t come down as far.

When it was on and gorgeous, I told her, “No shoes today, and this means you walk on your toes. If I see your heels touch the floor, it won’t be good for you. Permission to release.”

She landed on her toes and took a step forward, then another before she had her balance.

She’d never worn this particular plug before, so I ordered her to stretch out over the horizontal bar. So much easier to insert the plug, since I knew it was going to be a tight fit.

It took a while to work it in, and her noises had me all worked up. After ten minutes, it wasn’t even halfway in, and she was making long strings of broken, desperate sounds. She’d taken way more than the halfway point, many times, and I realized she was just tense, so I popped her on the ass hard enough to leave a handprint and told her, “Stop fighting me, cunt.”

She sobbed once, loud, and forced herself to relax. It went in another couple of millimeters, and I rubbed her back. “That’s it. Good girl. Relax for me. It’s going in, no matter what. Work with me, slave.”

It was at least another ten minutes before the plug finally sank home, and she was openly sobbing, tears streaming from her eyes and landing on the floor beneath her. No impact, no cock, just the stretch of the plug insertion, and damnation, I wanted to keep this woman.

But she was only mine until it was safe for her to leave. We’d have at least one more maintenance session, I figured, but I’ve also learned not to count on things a month away.