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It isn’t long before I condemn myself for stupidity.  I should have spoken to the maid.  Even if there wouldn’t have been a response, at least I would have tried.  At that regret, two other females with similar proportions to the latter enter dressed in nurses uniforms, likewise gloved and wearing masks.  One has the face of a raven, the other a black serpent, its mouth open and fangs protruding for attack.  They begin to untie me.

I ask quickly, “Where’s my girl?”

No reply.

“w-w-where a-a… w-wwhe-re am I?”  My nerves act up.  “p–p–pl-…” …please help me.  It’s useless to say, I sense that well enough.

They stand me up and I lean heavily on my right leg, as they commence to remove my clothing.

“w-w-wa–w-wa-wait!”  I wriggle meagerly, but enough to lose my own balance and fall onto my backside, causing yet more pain.  My eyes close with a cringe and a tear falls.  I’m not one to cry, but tears fall naturally when there is enough pain.

The nurses roughly turn me to lay on my stomach.  I am too weak to struggle, not merely for the reason of their force, or the progressing atrophy of my muscles, but also because of how hastily they are moving.  The raven puts her foot on the back of my neck and blindfolds me.  The serpent brings my arms behind my back and chains them at the wrists.  She rips my shirt off and whips my bare back three times with, from what it feels like, a cat o’ nine tails.  I yell once.

I’m pulled to stand as my pants and boxers are removed as well as all the bandages.  My shoes and socks are missing as I sat in this chair barefoot.
They lead me somewhere, quite a ways, their steps echoing as though we are passing through vast rooms and halls with high ceilings.  I believe I actually hear other people passing by and am very humiliated, as I’ve always been somewhat modest.

Who are all these people?  What am I doing here?

Their steps are brisk and it is painful to keep up as they pull me along, the air from our rushing strikes my whip marks, embellishing the sting.  Then drapes the sound of a heavy door closing and I stand alone.  Though I sense their presence.  I don’t move.

It has probably been about ten minutes, twenty the most, though time has a way of stretching, I have learned, in a concentration camp type setting.  Although, I haven’t the experience of that to compare, my understanding of it is, both situations are dreadful torture.  An inhumane form of entertainment as I see it.

I’m suddenly struck with a lot of liquid on either side, and front and back.  From the sound and the sensation, I guess it is buckets of water.  Several ungloved hands touch me, sudsing me up with bars of soap, cleaning all members, crevices and parts of my body, including behind the ears and a shampoo.  It agitates my wounds, but the pain comes more from the flames of embarrassment that swarm over me, causing me to drop my head as if to look at the ground, although of course, I am blindfolded.

I am hosed off by a hose with lots of power and I moan a bit as it bites into my leg and back.  I am dried and bandaged.

Lotion is rubbed into my skin.  Then nothing.

More time passes.  Again ten or twenty minutes.  Then I sense someone from behind coming closer.  My nerves and humiliation bring on lightheadedness.  Until, I feel these hands on either side of my pelvis, caressing gently, moving slowly closer to my genitals.  I allow it, despite the violation, because it feels good, I allow it to feel good.  In fact, it is the closest anything this far has come to a good thing.  I don’t know how long I’ll be here, or how much I’ll have to endure and suffer, mental or physical, so any good thing I will take, whether or not it is unfair or wrong.  The hands massage my penis.  The more I relax and let it happen, the better it feels.  My mind is hard to let go of, however, but once I overcome that, which doesn’t take as long as I suspected it would, I become very erect.  The massaging becomes faster and faster.  I moan for once with pleasure.  It is damn good.  And just when I am about to cum, I hear a large crowd of people applaud and cheer, their whistles and shouts echo as from a a capacious auditorium.  I instantly go limp, this is another sort of pain.  An agony.  The hands release and there is no one or nothing but the cheers, although I know there are people close by me.  I figure I must be on some sort of a stage.  The sound of cameras provokes me to try to get out of there, though I am still blindfolded, with a lame leg, my hands chained behind me, and I am tripped up, so I fall and the crowd laughs.  And the crowd laughs.

This is sick.  I can’t believe this is happening to me.  I don’t consider that I’ve ever done anything so terrible that I deserve this.  Worse, where is my daughter?  Could they possibly be torturing a four year old little girl?  I don’t want to think of it.  They couldn’t.  No.  …no.

I stay down.  I hear the auditorium being cleared.  After a bit, I sense that in this room I am indeed alone.  Although, I know from somewhere, I am being watched.

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