Washing

Ruth was dragged out of the intake room by her bound arms, bare feet scraping across cold concrete. The heavy steel door slammed behind her. The corridor stank of bleach, sweat and old sex. Neon tubes flickered overhead as the two men hauled her naked, welted body toward a wide tiled archway marked only with a faded sign: WASH.

The shower hall was long and industrial — rows of open stalls with rusted shower heads, grated drains running down the center of the floor, chains hanging from the ceiling at regular intervals. The air was already thick with steam and the sharp chemical reek of harsh soap. Several other naked women were being “cleaned” under the spray: collared, marked, some sobbing quietly while rough hands scrubbed them like livestock.

Ruth was shoved under the nearest shower head. Ice-cold water blasted her skin without warning. She gasped and tried to twist away, but one man kept a fist in her hair while the other cut the ropes from her wrists only to immediately re-cuff them to a short chain dangling from the ceiling. Her arms were yanked high above her head until she was forced onto the balls of her feet, tits pulled tight, every fresh cane stripe on her thighs and stomach burning under the freezing water.

“Time to get the filth off the new meat,” one of them muttered.

A third handler — a thick-set woman with short grey hair and dead eyes — stepped in carrying a stiff-bristled scrub brush and a bucket of industrial soap that smelled like pure lye. She didn’t speak. She simply dunked the brush, then drove it hard across Ruth’s chest.

The bristles scraped mercilessly over the tender undersides of her B-cups and the swollen, twisted nipples the blonde had already abused. Ruth screamed. The woman scrubbed harder, back and forth, turning the pink skin raw and bright red. Soap ran in burning rivulets down her stomach and into the cleft of her cunt. The brush followed — up between her legs, scraping over her still-throbbing pussy lips with deliberate, vicious pressure. Every stroke dragged the coarse bristles across her clit. Pain and an unwanted, shameful spark of sensation collided. Ruth’s hips jerked helplessly.

“Filthy little cunt already getting wet,” the grey-haired woman sneered. She shoved two thick fingers into Ruth’s pussy without warning, scissoring them roughly while the brush kept working over her clit and the soft inner lips. “Look at that. Dripping while we clean the meat. Pathetic.”

The two men laughed. One reached up and twisted both of Ruth’s nipples at the same time, hard enough to make her cry out again. The other slapped her ass repeatedly with an open hand, the wet smacks echoing off the tiles, each blow landing on the cane welts until her cheeks burned and jiggled.

They rotated her like a piece of hanging meat. The brush attacked her asshole next — stiff bristles forced against the tight ring, soap shoved into the sensitive hole while one of the men spread her cheeks wide. Ruth sobbed, toes scrabbling on the slick tiles, arms screaming in their sockets. Every part of her was scoured: the soles of her feet, the backs of her knees, the soft skin under her arms, the crease where her thighs met her cunt. Nothing was spared. The water stayed freezing. The soap burned. The hands were clinical and cruel.

When they finally dropped the brush, they rinsed her with the same icy blast, fingers still probing — one man pushing three fingers deep into her cunt and pumping hard while the other forced a thick thumb into her soapy asshole. Ruth’s body clenched and trembled, a broken moan slipping out as the dual invasion stretched her open under the cold spray.

They left her hanging there, dripping, skin raw and red, cunt and ass still slightly open and stinging, while they moved to the next girl.

Minutes later the far door banged open.

Two different handlers dragged Rike in.

Ruth’s green eyes locked onto her friend and her stomach dropped.

Rike could barely walk. Her long, elegant body was a map of fresh damage. Angry red cane stripes covered her thighs, stomach and the high curves of her tits. One nipple was swollen and dark purple from prolonged twisting. Finger-shaped bruises already bloomed on her narrow hips and around her throat. Her curly brown hair was matted with spit and tears. A thin trail of blood ran from one nostril. Between her legs her smooth pussy looked puffy and abused, the outer lips reddened and slick with more than water. She moved with a painful, careful gait that told Ruth exactly how roughly she had been used.

The handlers didn’t even glance at Ruth. They simply chained Rike to the shower head beside her, arms hauled high, and turned the freezing water on full blast. Rike’s broken whimper was almost lost under the spray.

The grey-haired woman returned with the same stiff brush and the same bucket of burning soap.

She started on Rike without a word — scraping the bristles hard over the already-bruised tits, across the welted stomach, then straight down between the taller girl’s legs. Rike cried out, voice hoarse. The brush worked ruthlessly over her swollen cunt while two fingers shoved inside her to “clean deeper.” The men joined in, spreading her long legs wider, scrubbing her asshole, twisting the uninjured nipple until fresh tears spilled.

Ruth could only hang there and watch, her own raw body still dripping, while her best friend was scoured just as brutally, just as thoroughly, just as humiliatingly.

When the handlers finally finished, both girls were left chained under the cold water — skin scrubbed raw, holes stinging, tits aching, faces wet with more than shower spray — waiting for whatever came next.