Purification

Legs trembling, Prue clung to the wall in the dark alley, her body still reeling from the residual spasms of the ****.

She knocked on the metal door, a camera turned on, and a female voice spoke with an authoritative tone.

• Ah, it's you, you're late. Come in.

The metallic voice echoed through the speaker, sharp and impatient, before the metal door opened with an ominous creak. Prue wobbled as she crossed the threshold, her heels clicking on the cold concrete, her trembling thighs still glistening with sweat and dried residue. The hot, spicy air of the club whipped across her face, mingled with the acrid smell of leather, metal, and perspiration.

A commanding voice ordered

• On your knees, I'll examine you

Prue obeyed with a jerky movement, her bruised knees hitting the concrete floor with a dull thud. Her fingers trembled as they clenched on her thighs, the skin damp and marbled with bruises. The woman's shadow leaned over her, a patent leather boot nudged her, knocking her onto her side.

The tip of the boot dug into her ribs, turning her inside out like damaged goods. Prue whimpered, her breath caught in her throat by the impact, as latex-gloved fingers roughly pried her still-trembling thighs apart.

• You're filthy, the woman snarled, tracing the sticky treaty between her legs with the tip of a riding crop. The bite of the leather on her sensitized skin made Prue gasp, her muscles tensing in a futile attempt to escape.

The woman grabbed her by the hair, "I'm going to disinfect you, you bag of shit."

With a brutal pull, she yanked Prue off the floor, forcing her to crawl on her knees behind her, her heels clicking in a disorganized rhythm. The leather gloves squeaked as they closed around the back of her neck, forcing her face up toward a rusty sink where a basin of ice water laced with disinfectant was stagnating.

• Dive in, the woman ordered, crushing the back of her neck toward the stagnant water.

Prue barely had time to inhale before her face was forcibly submerged, the icy liquid burning her nostrils, the chlorine eating away at her swollen eyelids. Her hands flailing, searching in vain for a grip on the slippery ceramic, while the gloved fingers held her skull beneath the surface with relentless pressure.

The dominatrix released her. Prue's lungs were on fire when the dominant attacked her vagina and anus simultaneously with sponges on sticks that made them look like toilet brushes. The rough sponge scraped her sensitive flesh, the disinfectant biting into every tiny crack, every scratch left by her attackers. Prue screamed, her body arching, the tendons in her neck protruding like ropes beneath the skin.

• Stop acting. The dominatrix's voice pierced Prue's eardrums, sharp as a blade on glass. You came here to seek your limits of suffering, submission, and degradation. Do you want me to announce that you renounce your master?

The words fell like whiplashes, sharper than the disinfectant still burning in her flesh. Prue gasped, her trembling lips stained with drool and tears.

• Go into the next room, take a shower, put on your makeup, then I'll come get you to serve like a good little female dog.

Prue crawled into the next room, her scraped knees leaving pinkish streaks on the concrete. The shower crackled, spitting out a jet of scalding water that washed away the grime and disinfectant, reddening her skin like a raw graze. Her trembling fingers dropped the black soap twice before she managed to rub it between her thighs, where the sponge had left scarlet streaks.

The rough towel grazed her skin as she wiped away the last traces of moisture, her sore breasts quivering from the friction, the fogged mirror flashing back the image of a stranger with dark circles under her eyes, her lower lip swollen where her teeth had bitten her to stifle a scream.

The door rumbled behind her before she could grab the tube of lipstick, bloody black, the color mandated by club rules.