Sydney POV
I barely feel the metal nozzle as Harry puts it inside me, meaning that the disgusting drug laced alcohol he makes me drink is definitely relaxing my body, unfortunately the same cannot be said for my mind. My head is beginning to spin, my vision is blurring and my limbs feel heavy, the effects of the vile tasting concoction Harry fed me taking a strong hold.
My body is instinctively following the well practised, pre-play routine, despite my inner voice vehemently screaming objections, the muscle memory is engraved on my psyche and is as unwelcome as graffiti would be on Michelangelo's statue of David!
While the machinery to my left continues to flush my colon Harry has moved across the room to the Shower lol area, turning on the water and removing his shirt. Goosebumps prick at my immediately clammy skin, nausea and fear washing over me as my body trembles violently.
The shower!
I hate this bit the most.
Of course I hate all of it, but this is where it all really begins. It is the proverbial 'ready, steady, GO'.... a referees whistle of sorts, signalling the true commencement of playtime!
Harry is chuckling as he approaches the table, turning off the machine then running his fingers lightly up the inside of my left leg as he slowly moves towards my face and smiles at me, the trembling now becoming skin crawling shudders.
I still retain enough control of my body to flinch as I feel his fingers on my vagina, slowly running them down between my lips before grabbing the nozzle and swiftly and roughly pulling it out of me. I've never understood how a drug can remove all muscle control yet allow respiration to continue unaffected, and that the sensation of pain can remain so fully intact?
After wiping me down he lifts me into a sitting position and places one hand behind my back, the other under my knees and picks me up, carrying my limp but fully sensate body to the shower chair and placing me into it.
As always he fastens my wrists to the arms of the chair and my ankles to the legs with the wide rubber straps attached for this very purpose. He found with experience that keeping my semi comatose body in a slippery and wet plastic chair was pretty difficult, so designed and commissioned this custom made contraption.
He stands opposite me and stares for a few moments. I can only see half of his face as my head is lolling to one side but I observe a salacious smirk and movements that suggest he is removing his belt.
Here we go!
I steel my mind for what is just seconds away. I may not be able to control my body, or verbally communicate in any meaningful way, but I can sure as hell control the way I mentally cope with the horrors to come. He places the belt around my neck, pulling it tightly into a noose cum dog lead and pulls on it, raising my head up straight. The weight of my head means that the belt tightens, pinching my skin as he pulls against the weight, some of my hair caught between my skin and the leather also pulling painfully, but that all pales into insignificance besides the battle for my life I am fighting. The belt is compressing my throat making it impossible for me to breathe!
It feels like I've been dying for hours, my eyes bulging, my throat gurgling and my vision blurring. I can hear the blood whooshing in my ears and I am praying for a quick death. Honestly..... I don't think I would fight right now if I wasn't paralysed. I'd always pick death over playtime with Harry and his pals!
The shock of the cold water hitting my head draws a slurred yelp from my throat as every nerve in my body silently screams at the insult while I attempt to catch my breath.
Harry chuckles at my state as he sprays my entire body with the frigid liquid, watching the fine blonde hairs on my skin stand on end, goosebumps rising, my skin becoming a deathly shade of pale and my nipples stiffening.
Another wave of nausea sweeps over me as I hear the pop of the body wash being opened behind me. The evocative and cloying smell of lavender and musk hits my nostrils and my body expels a seemingly enormous quantity of yellow bile, which runs down my torso into my lap, dripping from my chin and between my legs to the floor. That heavy, floral, overly sweet smell will haunt me and cause such strong adverse reactions for the rest of my life, however long...... or short, it may be!
"That's it Dolly, get it all out. We want as much room in that already tiny stomach for playtime don't we, hmm!?"
Another slew of vomit leaves my mouth at Harry's insinuation as he again sprays my shivering form with the icy water, hosing me down like an off road fanatic would rinse his 4x4 after a particularly muddy rally!
I feel the sponge on my back as he begins washing my skin, lingering in all the spots I expected, his predictability a blessing, but also a curse..... I can prepare myself for what is coming, but unfortunately I KNOW what that is!!
He washes and rinses my hair then towels it and my skin dry before massaging more musk scented moisturising lotion into my body with an exfoliating mitt..... he says that skin is only really clean when the top layer has been buffed away and what is left is a shade of red only ever seen after sleeping for hours on a beach with no suncream on.
He has a brief mumbled conversation with himself while looking between my legs about whether to fully remove my pubic hair, but ultimately decides that is not necessary as it is 'adequately groomed'.
The feelings of rage and humiliation I feel while he does this are immeasurable, my knees spread apart while Harry crouches infront of my knees, inspecting me as if I were a brand new car.
I am now fully immobilised so unable to express those feelings, but I know without doubt that given the chance I will kill this motherfucker!
Listening to Harry hum to himself while preparing to style my hair continues to fuel my rage, which is likely due in part to the absolute frustration of being in full possession of all my faculties but being utterly incapable of expressing anything at all, not one single flicker of emotion possible. Horrendous, perpetual terror, frustration and anger swirl within like a category five hurricane, but to the casual observer i'd appear as serene as a Swiss hillside in Spring.
This is why governments should rethink their euthanasia laws for those suffering the torment of illnesses such as MND, ALS and Locked in syndrome. Nobody deserves to be forced to live this way. At least for me it has so far always been temporary...... until the day it isn't. The fear of that fate is almost greater than that of 'playtime' with Harry and those other sick bastards.
As well as being twisted, damaged and evil pieces of shit they are all cowards too, hiding behind their masks afraid of recognition. In our industry that shrieks fame, wealth, power, or possibly all three things combined. Fear that I may 'out' them as the vile torturing rapists that they are high, but not as high as their desires to challenge themselves to come up with creative new ways to cause me emotional and physical pain.
I have full control of my eyes and ears throughout all these experiences so have been taking in details about them all, any small and unique distinguishing features, scars, moles, accents and skin colour, along with keeping my ears tuned to any potential clue to their identities. Not knowing who they are probably protects me from being murdered to keep me silent, but heightens my anxieties anytime I am among a large number of men, my brain often choosing to temporarily shut down to protect me from perceived threats, and occasionally the unchecked rage explodes from me, unleashing that category 5 hurricane from within.
Realising with a slow blink that Harry has already finished French plaiting my hair down both sides of my head, securing each braid with a small white bow, I focus my ears on listening for his whereabouts. Behind me still, his humming continuing as he rifles through coat hangers to find a suitable outfit to titillate them all today.
There are MANY outfits, each of those vile men out there waiting for me having their own particular brand of perversion, fantasy
and fetish. They all like bondage, but to differing degrees, one enjoys restraining me in intricate knots, one has a special love affair with hot wax and another loves a schoolgirl role play, dressing me in a tiny pleated mini skirt and extremely tight white shirt over a white lace bra, knee high socks completing the look for him.
In their previous playtime's I have fulfilled roles such as 'dirty cheating whore', 'shy schoolgirl', 'kidnap victim' and 'filthy prostitute' to name but a few.
My eyes widen as Harry steps into my eyeline, an evil twist to his lips as he holds up the outfit he has chosen for me.