Better get her cleaned up for the new day...

I was up early the next day. Probably the crack of dawn if I weren’t so far underground. Normally I sleep in a bit between jobs but today… I felt almost giddy with anticipation. Just because I closely guard my emotions doesn’t mean I don’t have them. So, I got dressed and, marching on the outside, skipping on the inside, made my way to Raven’s room.

She was, of course, exactly as I had left her. The thick depleted promethium* collar and chain would be a severe impediment even at full strength. With her powers denied to her, escape is impossible. I wordlessly disconnect her chain, tugging on it insistently, “Wake up, little Raven. We have much to do.”

Over the course of the night, the cum on her face and chest has mostly flaked off, giving way to a general grimy feeling. Wordlessly, I march her across the hall to one of the rooms I’ve fitted for prisoner interrogation and/or application of what we professionals call “horrible mind-searing agony”. This particular chamber features a chain and winch in the ceiling and a drain in the middle. “Time for your morning shower,” I say, cuffing her hands to the chain overhead and forcing her onto her toes.

I already have the hose set up, so I take a moment to admire her hanging naked form before I continue. “This a high pressure hose, originally designed for fire fighting. I won’t set it to full power since it would most definitely kill you, but it’ll certainly wake you up…”

I take in her reaction for a moment. She closes her eyes and cringes a little, but doesn’t bother begging for mercy. Either she knows that she will receive none, or she doesn’t feel she deserves it. Most excellent…

The hose will do no permanent damage, but it certainly has her attention. Her pale skin reddens under the ****, and the **** pushes her out sideways a little, and starts her spinning. I only keep it up for a minute or two, since I don’t want her to go numb and this water is actually well below freezing. Only its high speed keeps it liquid.

I allow a moment for her to slow to a stop. She’s panting from the pain, the cold, and the difficulty breathing. I smile and walk up to her, the hose now reduced to barely a trickle. She just hangs there, shivering with cold and shock, sniffling a little.

“There, isn’t that better?”

*(Depleted Promethium is a ludicrously strong material also used in the construction of Deathstroke’s gear and, ironically, Cyborg’s cybernetic components, among other things.)