by Kritenswhips
The room was lit by a ring of candles around the rim of the large sunken tub and shadows on the walls danced mockingly to the flickering flames. A glass of Madeira was placed by the edge and it, too, seemed to move sensuously along with every light draft which wafted the flames, tiny pricks of reflection in it’s curve. It was the perfect place to relax, to slough off the stress of the day, drowning it in the scented bubbly warm water.
The Sponge remembered little of it’s capture. Just the sudden pungent cloth over its face, arms pinioned, strong male members flailing and kicking out sadly for less than a minute before unconsciousness. It remembered nothing of the trip in the windowless van and only awakened a long time later immobilized and fitted out for it’s one-time use with an overlarge sponge gag in its mouth. A splash and its mind was occupied with keeping its nose out of the water while toes clenched on the slippery floor of the tub, trying to maintain any buoyancy possible so that its head would stay above the surface. There it bobbled, neck craned achingly, sponge thrust in the air and nostrils flared to take in oxygen. The door clicked, a crack of light. She entered and touched a switch. Music filled the air. Stravinsky. The Sponge turned to look as She slipped into the tub with a sigh.
After a brief preamble of wine there was no delay. The Sponge was plunged under the water and held there by Her feet, thighs, buttocks, again and again until it learned that it must move its head back and forth the better to scrub away all the dirt, all the stress, of the day. Its lungs burned and it strained over and over again against the bonds but it could only reach the surface for a brief moment of air before it was pulled down to another spot, sometimes slowly, gently, as under the calves, sometimes roughly and with force, Her nails digging into its scalp as She grasped its hair and scrubbed the bottoms of Her feet, the crack of Her buttocks and back. Each time its sponge-filled mouth must move to Her whim, back and forth until She was satisfied. Then and only then was it allowed to bob back to the surface for a brief gasp of air and a strangled squeak before being soaped and sent under again. Panic began to set in and the squeaks became more pleading, the netted muscles flexed more desperately, but nothing must stop the bath which continued to the muffled splashing and the strains of the violin.
“Here. Now, here.”
The sponge sensed a change in the approach to the quivering V of Her inner thighs. It twisted away but was pushed down between them by two hands, perfectly arched feet holding the ball that was once a man. Its lungs burned insanely.
“And here. Yes. Yes. There!”
Sponge twisted its head and kicked what little it could but the motion only worked to further Her scrubbing action. It was brought up for one more breath of air and soaping and then thrust down to where the V came to a point.
“I want to keep you for another time Sponge but..but..I have to..have to..”
Her body arched.
Orgasm. Orgasm…………Bubbles.
Orgasm……………. Bubbles.
OrgasmOrgasmOrgasm.
She lay back in the tub gasping sweet air and grasped the wine glass with trembling fingers. In the water at the other end, a dark shape among the piled suds, a used spongs floated quietly.
She stood, water slipping in tiny rivulets over her perfectly clean body.
Her bath was over.
Share this content:
