Ulysses and Sophia part five
The coarse wool fibers of the rug bit into Ulysses’ raw, spanked buttocks as he shifted in the Butterfly pose, his inner thighs trembling from the strain. Sophia’s voice cut through the humid air, sharp and amused.
“Enough of that. Let’s try something more… fitting for you."
Her heels clicked as she circled him, the scent of her floral perfume thick and cloying in the dim office light.
"Puppy pose. Forehead and chin on the ground. Knees and thighs tucked under your chest. And that ass—" she paused, tapping one manicured nail against his inflamed skin, "—high in the air where it belongs."
Ulysses exhaled through his nose, sweat beading along his blindfold as he lowered himself forward. His ribs pressed into the rug, the fibers scratching against his chest, while his hips lifted, exposing the puckered hole between his cheeks. The position stretched his hamstrings painfully, but the real agony came from the way his bruised buttocks split apart, the cool air kissing the tender flesh. Sophia’s fingers traced the curve of his left cheek, then the right, her touch featherlight before she squeezed—hard.
“Look at you. So obedient. So submissive."* Her laugh was a dark purr. "I could stick anything in here, couldn’t I? A hairbrush. A dildo. A wire hanger, maybe. My fingers. My fist."
She dug her nails in, and he jerked, a muffled whimper escaping his throat.* "Or my toes. Hell, my whole foot would fit if I really tried."
His face burned behind the blindfold. The mental image of her slender foot disappearing into him made his stomach clench, but worse was the way his cock twitched against the rug, traitorously stiffening. Sophia’s voice dropped to a whisper, her breath hot against his ear.
"I’d love to wiggle my tongue in there too. But first—" she tapped his hole, and he flinched—"you’d need to be clean. *And I don’t mean that sad little wipe you probably gave yourself this morning."* Her fingers slid lower, teasing the sensitive skin behind his balls. *"An enema. Do you know what that is, puppy?"*
Ulysses swallowed, his throat dry.
“Y-yes, ma’am. It’s when—when a pitcher or a bulb, with a tube or a syringe, gets put up your… up there, and water gets pushed in. Fills your intestines. You have to hold it until you’re told to let go." His voice cracked. The memory of the one time he’d tried it alone—squirming on his bathroom floor, cramping, desperate—flashed behind his eyes.
*"Very good."* Sophia’s praise sent a shameful thrill through him, but her next words twisted it into something darker.
"Healthy, too. Vitamins are better absorbed through injection than pills, you know. And from now on, you’re not getting yours from some cheap multivitamin."
Her fingernail traced the dimple above his asshole.
“You’re getting them from me. Starting today."
The words barely registered before she stood, her skirt swishing.
“Wait here. Don’t move from that position unless you want another spanking." The door clicked shut behind her, and Ulysses sagged—only for a second—before forcing himself back into the humiliating arch. His thighs burned, his hole ached, and the blindfold made the silence oppressive. He counted his breaths, the wool scratching his cheek with every inhale.
Time stretched. Then—footsteps. The door creaked open, and the air shifted with Sophia’s return. Something heavy thudded onto the desk beside him. "Down, boy!" she commanded, and the tone made his skin prickle. He pressed his forehead to the rug, resuming the pose, but this time she grabbed his wrists and yanked his arms forward, stretching them out like a dog begging. *"Much better."* Her heels clicked closer.
"Feel that? That’s a ten-quart pitcher. And this—"* a cool, flexible tube brushed his thigh—"is medical-grade silicone. The clip’s labeled shit for a reason."
Ulysses’ breath hitched as she rubbed his buttocks, her thumbs spreading him open. The tube’s tip prodded his hole, slick with something warm—her saliva, he realized with a jolt, when she made a wet pop sound after sucking on it for ten long seconds. "Relax," she murmured, "or this’ll hurt more than it has to."* The tip breached him, shallow at first, then deeper, the stretch burning. He groaned into the rug, his cock leaking onto the wool.
A desk drawer slid open. The *click* of the yellow clamp releasing echoed like a gunshot. Then—*rush*. Ice-cold water flooded his guts, the tube pulsing as the pitcher emptied. *"Fuck—!* His muffled scream tore through the blindfold, his abdomen distending obscenely, the pressure immediate and brutal. Sophia’s hand splayed over his swollen belly, rubbing in slow circles.
"Two quarts. You’ll hold it for three minutes. If you spill a drop, you’ll wish I’d just used the hanger."
The cramps hit like a fist. Ulysses’ legs shook, his back arching further as his intestines writhed. Sophia’s nails bit into his hips. *"One-eighty seconds. And don’t you dare move."
She removed his blindfold, knowing he would need it to make it to the bathroom without crashing into anything. Then Sophia stepped away, her chair creaking as she sat, the sound of her typing on her phone deliberate, maddening. His muscles screamed. The water sloshed, heavy and alien, his sphincter clenching desperately around nothing. One minute. His vision spotted behind the blindfold. Two. A whine clawed up his throat.
*"Time’s up."* Sophia’s voice was a lifeline. Ulysses lurched upright, his hands flying to his distended stomach as he stumbled toward the bathroom. The door slammed behind him just as the first cramp doubled him over—the toilet seat cold against his thighs as he finally, finally let go.
“Enough of that. Let’s try something more… fitting for you."
Her heels clicked as she circled him, the scent of her floral perfume thick and cloying in the dim office light.
"Puppy pose. Forehead and chin on the ground. Knees and thighs tucked under your chest. And that ass—" she paused, tapping one manicured nail against his inflamed skin, "—high in the air where it belongs."
Ulysses exhaled through his nose, sweat beading along his blindfold as he lowered himself forward. His ribs pressed into the rug, the fibers scratching against his chest, while his hips lifted, exposing the puckered hole between his cheeks. The position stretched his hamstrings painfully, but the real agony came from the way his bruised buttocks split apart, the cool air kissing the tender flesh. Sophia’s fingers traced the curve of his left cheek, then the right, her touch featherlight before she squeezed—hard.
“Look at you. So obedient. So submissive."* Her laugh was a dark purr. "I could stick anything in here, couldn’t I? A hairbrush. A dildo. A wire hanger, maybe. My fingers. My fist."
She dug her nails in, and he jerked, a muffled whimper escaping his throat.* "Or my toes. Hell, my whole foot would fit if I really tried."
His face burned behind the blindfold. The mental image of her slender foot disappearing into him made his stomach clench, but worse was the way his cock twitched against the rug, traitorously stiffening. Sophia’s voice dropped to a whisper, her breath hot against his ear.
"I’d love to wiggle my tongue in there too. But first—" she tapped his hole, and he flinched—"you’d need to be clean. *And I don’t mean that sad little wipe you probably gave yourself this morning."* Her fingers slid lower, teasing the sensitive skin behind his balls. *"An enema. Do you know what that is, puppy?"*
Ulysses swallowed, his throat dry.
“Y-yes, ma’am. It’s when—when a pitcher or a bulb, with a tube or a syringe, gets put up your… up there, and water gets pushed in. Fills your intestines. You have to hold it until you’re told to let go." His voice cracked. The memory of the one time he’d tried it alone—squirming on his bathroom floor, cramping, desperate—flashed behind his eyes.
*"Very good."* Sophia’s praise sent a shameful thrill through him, but her next words twisted it into something darker.
"Healthy, too. Vitamins are better absorbed through injection than pills, you know. And from now on, you’re not getting yours from some cheap multivitamin."
Her fingernail traced the dimple above his asshole.
“You’re getting them from me. Starting today."
The words barely registered before she stood, her skirt swishing.
“Wait here. Don’t move from that position unless you want another spanking." The door clicked shut behind her, and Ulysses sagged—only for a second—before forcing himself back into the humiliating arch. His thighs burned, his hole ached, and the blindfold made the silence oppressive. He counted his breaths, the wool scratching his cheek with every inhale.
Time stretched. Then—footsteps. The door creaked open, and the air shifted with Sophia’s return. Something heavy thudded onto the desk beside him. "Down, boy!" she commanded, and the tone made his skin prickle. He pressed his forehead to the rug, resuming the pose, but this time she grabbed his wrists and yanked his arms forward, stretching them out like a dog begging. *"Much better."* Her heels clicked closer.
"Feel that? That’s a ten-quart pitcher. And this—"* a cool, flexible tube brushed his thigh—"is medical-grade silicone. The clip’s labeled shit for a reason."
Ulysses’ breath hitched as she rubbed his buttocks, her thumbs spreading him open. The tube’s tip prodded his hole, slick with something warm—her saliva, he realized with a jolt, when she made a wet pop sound after sucking on it for ten long seconds. "Relax," she murmured, "or this’ll hurt more than it has to."* The tip breached him, shallow at first, then deeper, the stretch burning. He groaned into the rug, his cock leaking onto the wool.
A desk drawer slid open. The *click* of the yellow clamp releasing echoed like a gunshot. Then—*rush*. Ice-cold water flooded his guts, the tube pulsing as the pitcher emptied. *"Fuck—!* His muffled scream tore through the blindfold, his abdomen distending obscenely, the pressure immediate and brutal. Sophia’s hand splayed over his swollen belly, rubbing in slow circles.
"Two quarts. You’ll hold it for three minutes. If you spill a drop, you’ll wish I’d just used the hanger."
The cramps hit like a fist. Ulysses’ legs shook, his back arching further as his intestines writhed. Sophia’s nails bit into his hips. *"One-eighty seconds. And don’t you dare move."
She removed his blindfold, knowing he would need it to make it to the bathroom without crashing into anything. Then Sophia stepped away, her chair creaking as she sat, the sound of her typing on her phone deliberate, maddening. His muscles screamed. The water sloshed, heavy and alien, his sphincter clenching desperately around nothing. One minute. His vision spotted behind the blindfold. Two. A whine clawed up his throat.
*"Time’s up."* Sophia’s voice was a lifeline. Ulysses lurched upright, his hands flying to his distended stomach as he stumbled toward the bathroom. The door slammed behind him just as the first cramp doubled him over—the toilet seat cold against his thighs as he finally, finally let go.
31-35, M