With intensifying anger and frustration, I recalled her earlier remark: “Have you always been so facile at shooting the s**t? We’ll see.”
Her cold-blooded premeditation roiled me. She had scripted my absolute desecration, from the relatively mild insult of limiting me to bread and water while the others feasted on a delicious variety of food, to her systematic defilement, reducing me to an involuntary pooping machine.
And yet, my twisted mind visualized kneeling before her, confessing her as my undisputed Goddess, Mistress of my fate, able to manipulate and abuse me to her heart’s content, knowing that I craved her punishment as much as she exulted in dishing it out. No longer content to merely kiss her ass, I had become her butt plug.
How long was I in the bathroom? An hour? Two hours?
