The next days went by much the same: long hours caged alone, then, after Nate had gotten home, an hour or two of play and sex. He was the only person she saw, other than the cleaners, until the sixth day, when the door opened far earlier than it ought to have.
Four-oh-five-three had no clock, but she had a sense of how long the day was. Once she had fallen asleep and woken up disoriented in time, convinced it was far later than it was, but now her stomach and her bladder told her how much time had passed, even if her circadian rhythm did not.
The cleaners had already come and gone, and at first 4053 thought that Nate had come back early. She had spent a full weekend with him, which was exhausting in a way that made her want to thrust her head in a bucket of ice water when he was finished with her, she was so tapped out. It was the mental exertion more than the physical -- the ever-present hyperawareness she had to have around him, the trauma she knew was building every time he turned his attention on her. She had thought she could just go along, but being used in the manner she was required much more of her than bored inattention, and not only because he demanded her presence in the moment. Her body and the lower parts of her brain thought they were keeping her
alive
.
She didn't know whether or not to be relieved when strangers came in the room. She had fought him this morning, and he had chained her sitting up, with her wrists clipped to a ring above her head. He had acted powerless to spare her, as though the discipline he imposed was not his whim but a natural law. This was what happened when she struggled, he said. He had sounded so reasonable that she had nearly agreed, to herself, that she ought to know by now not to stumble away when he reached down to put his fingers inside her. She was immobile, now, at the mercy of these new people, whoever they were, wearing an anal plug that was so big it hurt, and otherwise nude. Her nipples were hard and sensitive in the air conditioning, and she had tried to kick the blanket over her chest, but hadn't had any success.
It was a woman and two men. The men wore the same clothing that Nate did at work; the woman wore a lab coat. She began to speak at once, and her tone was warm. "Hi. I'm Dr. Rhodes. I'll be visiting once a week. Did your leaser tell you I was coming by this afternoon?"
Four-oh-five-three, embarrassed to be caught undressed, afraid of what this woman was going to do to her, gave the barest shake of her head.
"Okay, well, what we're going to do is look you over for injuries and take some blood samples. We're also going to get a weight. Let's get you out of there," she said. She sounded for all the world like any doctor 4053 would have seen on the outside, in her former life.
The men opened the cage, and one came in to unclip her wrists from where they were attached to the wall. He bent her forward at the waist and clipped them behind her back, and then he steered her past the cage door, to where the other man stood waiting. They led her to the middle of the room, and unclipped her wrists again, to attach them to a chain that they pulled down from the ceiling. One stepped back to give the doctor room.
It was not dark in the room, but she had a small flashlight she clicked on, and she used it to inspect 4053's body. "Has he left you all day with your hands like that before?"
Four-oh-five-three shook her head.
"Does anything hurt, like maybe the skin might have been broken? Does anything feel wrong inside? I see some bruises," she said, this last part to either the men or herself. She paused. "Anything painful?"
Four-oh-five-three shook her head again.
They stood her on a scale and recorded her weight, and took a urine sample, and then the men helped her onto a padded table that Nate had not yet used and strapped her down. Cowed and frightened, 4053 cooperated with them. The doctor examined her nose and throat, her eyes and ears, listened to her heart and lungs, and she let her hand linger on 4053's body in a way that managed to not be sexual or clinical at all, but comforting. It brought 4053 closer to tears than she had been in days.
"This is the part you probably want a break from," she said, and the men slid 4053 down the table so her back end hung off the edge. She laid quietly while they strapped her legs into a pair of stirrups. The doctor continued to talk to her. "I'd spare you if I could, but I have to check that you're not injured inside. I'm going to remove this plug," she said, and (to 4053's abject horror) after some careful tugging the anal plug, mercifully, was gone, "and put a speculum in, okay?" She slid it inside 4053 and opened it, and told her what she was doing as she did it: a visual examination, a swab to check for infection. Her rectum received a similar examination. "I think we can leave the plug out," the doctor said. "Sit her up for me, Carlos."
Four-oh-five-three sat, unrestrained now, on the edge of the table. The doctor wrapped one of the blankets from her cage around 4053's shoulders, and pulled her hair free of it. It was a gesture that seemed to say, you poor thing. I'm so sorry. The room blurred, and a moment later the tears began to fall.
"I know, honey," the doctor said, and gave her a little one-armed squeeze. "You're going to get through this. A lot of awful things are happening right now, but it's going to get easier, and then one day it's going to be over." She stood there a moment longer, with her arm around 4053's shoulders, and then withdrew it. "We need to get you back inside, all right? Can you walk in by yourself, or do you want some help?"
Four-oh-five-three shook her head. She slid off the table, clutching the blanket tightly around her, and walked with the doctor back to the cage. Hot tears slid down her cheeks, and she wiped them away with her fingers, rough and ashamed.
Later, alone, she wondered if the doctor's kindness had been a good thing. It had left her chest raw and achy. When Nate came home and took her out, it only made his treatment seem that much filthier. She had preferred it when she had less perspective.
He didn't remark on finding her in a different position than the one in which he had left her; he seemed to have expected it. "Come on," he said, "off with that," and he pulled the blanket from her shoulders and led her with her hands behind her back to the shower. He had washed her that morning, and now, as he said, "Down on your knees," it was clear that he was after something else.
The shower had few points to clip her restraints to in the bottom, but he made do with a spreader bar between her knees, and then he bent her forward over the floor until her head lay against it. "I don't want to see your shoulders rise from the floor," he said, and he waved his crop in her field of vision. Her legs were spread so wide, she was sure it would be easy work for him to crop her vulva dead center; he had done that the other night, and she knew how painful it was. While she listened, unable to see, he put on gloves, and then his finger pressed, firm and cold, against her anal sphincter.
Her time with the plugs had taught her that pushing against an object made it slide in more easily, and she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction -- but he didn't ask for it. Without her cooperation, he pushed in and circled his finger inside her. His voice went gentle in the way it often did. "There we go. Just relax." There was the sound of more lubricant from a bottle, and another finger joined the first, thick and inescapable. They massaged her inside, pushing in and out, and with his other hand he toyed with her clitoris. She couldn't help it; she moved her hips, whose position she was suddenly unsure of. Was she going to fall? Was she upright? She didn't dare move her head to check.
The fingers in her anus went deeper and deeper, in and out, until she felt his knuckles against her perineum. He withdrew them all and pushed them in again, this time joined by a third finger, and 4053's breath caught in her throat.
"No, no -- relax," he said, and held his hand still until she did. He continued to finger-fuck her. It was not a terrible feeling, but it was an uneasy one, like sliding into a too-hot bath or a too-cold pool; less care, too fast, and it would hurt. "You're doing well," he said, and he kept going. Four-oh-five-three, her cheek pressed uncomfortably to the shower floor, thought about her body's overwhelming need to feel a penis inside it, and how much she, herself, would rather just be in her cage, ignored.
Nate's fingers went away, leaving her feeling empty, but moments later he pushed something else in: another plug, but this one with less girth than the one she had worn this morning. It went deeper than she was used to, and there was a different feeling, a warm one, deep in her bowels --
She strained to see. Nate, now sitting up on his knees, was doing something with plastic, she could hear it, and when she saw his arm tense, as though he was squeezing it, she realized what she was feeling inside her.
He was giving her an enema.
Just when she thought she couldn't be further violated, something new happened to prove her wrong. This was not something she had ever experienced before. There was a
