I don’t move when he sticks the long, thin tip of the syringe inside my ass. It doesn’t hurt. It’s much smaller than anything else he’s shoved up there. But when the water starts flowing, I whimper, breathing hard as pressure starts to build low in my gut. It’s not painful, but the discomfort has me shifting on the floor. The warmth rushes in too fast, too deep, and my body tightens against it instinctively, my muscles pulsing in protest.
The fullness comes too quickly, stretching something inside me that doesn’t want to be stretched. My breath catches, short and ragged, and I have to fight the urge to squirm or clench. It’s invasive and humiliating, and I feel exposed in a way I never have before—not just my body, but something deeper.
I bite my lips and shut my eyes, but the tears still come. I want to crawl out of myself—to run—but Killian’s hand rests calmly on my back, keeping me where I am, forcing me to stay open, to feel everything.
“Accept it,” he says. “Your body is not yours anymore. It hasn’t been for a while.”
I feel the truth deep in my gut as he pulls out the syringe, refills it, and sticks it back inside. More water flows, building the pressure, making me groan and squirm to escape. But my movements are feeble, the protests more instinctive than anything as the unnatural sensation overcomes me.
“I own it. My dad owns it. Not you. You have no say or rights.”
The tears come faster at his words, but the floaty fog in my mind cushions the blow of the loss.
“Accept it,” he demands with that same reverberating tone that pierces through everything and settles at my very brain stem.
I go slack again, just taking. Accepting the horrible, horrible claim he’s laying to my body. The tears keep flowing, but it’s notin a desperate, gutting way. All the overwhelming emotions and sensations simply need an outlet.
“Good girl,” he croons, and this time, I think he means it. But I can’t be sure as I’m stuck in a haze.
As the pressure builds, so does the need to expel the water.
“I can’t hold it anymore,” I beg when he draws the syringe out. “Please, no more.”
“One more,” Killian insists. “Just let the water settle and it won’t feel as pressing.”
“No, I can’t,” I whisper in a slurred voice.
Leaning over me, he grabs the back of my neck. Hard. “Hold it,” he demands.
I want to resist him and pull away, but I need that almost punishing grip to stabilize me. Ineedto feel his power as I drift off into nothingness, losing everything I have and everything I am, his control my only lifeline. So I lean into his hand, breathing hard, my focus honing in on him and the effort of holding the water inside.
He’s right. After a while, the pressure to spill the water recedes, and only the uncomfortable, distended sensation in my stomach remains.
He moves to fill the syringe again, and when the tip breaches my opening, I jerk away, dislodging it. “Please don’t.”
“Please what?” He leans over me, grabbing my cheeks to turn my face to him. “I want you to think very carefully about your answer now. If you don’t give me the correct one, I’ll give you two more syringes.”
I frantically search through the fog to find out what he wants to hear. I stare at the ceiling, his sharp eyes, and the counter as if I could find the answer somewhere in the room. But it’s not there. Finally, I dig it out of my brain, and mortification overcomes me as I give voice to it. “Please give me a third syringe.”
He taps my cheek two times. “If you so badly want it.”
The tip returns, and I fist my hands around the chain as water seeps through my narrow canal, deep into my stomach, filling it to a painful degree. The water keeps coming; the pain keeps escalating. It must be coming at a slower pace since it takes longer than the other two, but it feels like he’s emptying the syringe with one hard push, over and over again.
A cramp-like sensation takes hold of my stomach, and my tears come in earnest. Groaning, I beg him, “Please stop. Killian, please.”
“Who owns your body?” he asks, gripping my hip tightly.
“You do. You.” I start writhing my upper body, jerking my head from side to side. It’s all I can do to process the turmoil inside me, afraid I’ll spill the water if I don’t keep my abdomen dead still.
“Mine.” He sinks his fingers deeper into my flesh, pain exploding in little pins and pricks that feel like he’s breaking my skin. “Not yours anymore. Mine. Can you feel it? Deep inside that belly of yours? I’m in there now. Not just in your pussy or your ass. I’ve claimed the very insides of you.”
“Yes, I feel it. I do.”
He pulls the syringe out, and I want to give in to a full-on crying fit, but I know that if I do, the water will spill. Instead, I go still, panting through my nose, afraid that any tiny movement will make me lose control.
Killian leans over me again and brushes the hair out of my now-sweaty face. “You have thirty minutes to get everything out. Once the clock on the counter runs out, I’m coming in here, and then you’re getting something else inside that tight little ass of yours.”
Deep in a daze, I watch Killian set a timer on the counter and one on his phone. Memories come rushing. Good ones Ihaven’t thought of in a very long time. All I can think at that moment?despite everything?isGod, I miss him.