Nadia wakes up in bed, a few weeks later

Nadia woke up with a start in her bed. Her breathing was haggard, chest heaving like she’d been running for miles in her sleep, and she was drenched in sweat. It soaked through whatever was left on her skin, cooling in the air-conditioned bedroom and making her shiver even as her pulse hammered in her ears. She was completely disoriented. It almost felt like waking up from a bad dream, one of those filthy, looping ones she used to analyze for patients, the kind that left you wet and ashamed and reaching for the light. It took her a moment to stabilize herself. She used her tried and tested deep breathing to help ground herself: in through the nose for four, hold for four, out through the mouth for six. The same technique she taught anxious undergrads and burned-out executives. In. Hold. Out. The fog in her skull began to thin.

But as she did so, the first thing she noticed was the stench.

She seemed to reek of piss, cum and sweat. Not a faint trace. Not the leftover musk of a restless night. It was thick, sour, clinging to her skin and the sheets like she’d been rolling in it. It coated the inside of her nostrils. Nadia’s stomach lurched. She always went to bed in her pajamas, soft cotton shorts and an oversized t-shirt, hair in a loose braid, face washed clean. That was the ritual. Psychologist, mother, woman who kept her life in neat compartments. This… this was none of those things.

Groggily, Nadia got out of bed. Her legs felt unsteady, like the muscles had been used hard and then left to stiffen. The sheets stuck to her thighs as she peeled them back. They were stained, dark patches that had dried stiff in places, others still faintly damp. She stumbled toward the full-length mirror that stood opposite the bed, the one she’d bought years ago because it made the room feel bigger. Her reflection stopped her cold.

What she saw shocked her even more than her own stink.

She wasn’t completely naked. She was wearing a pair of black heels, six-inch platform stripper heels, glossy, scuffed at the toes like they’d been worn for hours on a hard floor. Sheer black stockings clung to her legs, the lace tops digging into the soft flesh of her upper thighs, a small run already starting on the left calf. And worst of all there seemed to be spiral stickers covering her pussy and her nipples. Big, glossy black-and-white spirals, the kind you’d see as a novelty prop or a cheap Halloween decoration. The one on her left nipple had been peeled off halfway, curling away from her skin like a bandage.

It revealed a small spiral-shaped nipple piercing.

Nadia was dumbfounded. When had she gotten this weird piercing? She never even liked jewelry. She reached up with shaking fingers and peeled the rest of the sticker away. The metal was cool against her fingertip, a tiny silver spiral that sat flush against the dark brown of her areola, the barbell running through the center of her nipple. She peeled the matching sticker from her right breast. Same thing. Both nipples pierced. As she felt them she saw that they weren’t recent. The skin around the holes was completely healed, no redness, no crust, just the faint shine of well-cared-for metal that had been there long enough to become part of her. Weeks, at least. Maybe longer.

Worried, Nadia looked down at the larger sticker covering her pussy. It was bigger, covering her entire mound from the top of her slit down to just above her asshole, the spiral pattern swirling inward like it was supposed to draw the eye. She hooked a fingernail under the edge and peeled.

As she did, she felt a weird sensation in her crotch, pressure releasing, something wet and heavy shifting inside her. Cum began leaking out of her pussy. Thick, white ropes of it, already half-dried at the edges, now sliding down her inner thighs in slow, obscene rivulets. The sticker apparently was holding it in. A plug of semen and whatever else had been pumped into her overnight. It kept coming, more than she thought a body could hold, dripping onto the hardwood floor with soft, wet sounds.

Wanting to puke, Nadia tore the heels off her feet, flinging them toward the closet and ran into her washroom. She didn’t bother with the main shower. She grabbed the handheld sprayer, cranked the water as hot as she could stand, and sat on the closed toilet lid with her legs spread. The first jet hit her swollen folds and she hissed. She aimed it directly at her entrance, fingers spreading herself open, desperately trying to wash the cum out of her pussy. It came in clumps at first, then in thinner streams, mixing with the water and swirling down the drain. She kept going until the water ran mostly clear, until her clit was oversensitive and her inner walls felt raw. Even then she kept rinsing, like she could scrub the last twelve hours out of her body if she just used enough pressure.

When she finally looked up into the mirror above the sink, she saw her face for the first time.