“The plumbing’s out,” she said, “we can’t use any of the toilets.”
“That’s going to be awkward,” he said, “tough for you women. I’ll be ok, I can pop outside and use a tree.”
The mood in the room changed.
“Well, if you’re going to be selfish about it.” The tone was firm, decisive. The accompanying gesture to the other women sprung them into action, pouncing on him, pinning him down.
They stripped him naked, lay him on a bench, his feet either side, tied loosely together beneath it. He could bend his knee, writhe and struggle, but not lift his feet, not free them from the bench. The same was done with his arms, elbows and wrists connected to the opposite arm, the rope below the bench. It meant he wasn’t strained, as long as he didn’t try to sit up, but he couldn’t raise his arms, couldn’t free himself, his hands unable to twist to reach the knots holding him in place. A final rope went around his waist, below the bench, stopped him rolling off.
“What? What are you doing? Stop this!” he exclaimed.
“We’re giving ourselves an alternative,” she said, inserting a funnel between his teeth, forcing his mouth open. She held it in place as another of the women used duct tape to fasten it in place.
He shook his head, making the funnel swing around, almost wrenching it loose so more duct tape was used, around his forehead to the bench, some more from each of his ears to the padding beneath him. It stopped him shaking his head, left him only bellowing his rage in muted anger through the funnel.
“Time to silence you I think,” she said, pulling down her trousers and underwear. She held the funnel in place and squatted over it. “Remember to swallow in time to breathe,” she said.
The other women laughed. They wouldn’t need a tree.
Wait, what? I’m not into this!
Whatever made you think you had any say in the matter?
It doesn’t even make sense. I’ll just piss all over the floor now anyway, because I can’t move.
Hmm, fair point. Add this to the story:
Ignoring the spluttering moans beneath her, she looked up as one of the other women came back into the room carrying a package.
“Ah, thank you,” she said, pulling her underwear and trousers back up, “We’ll need those to keep him from creating a puddle.”
Reaching into the cardboard box she pulled out an oversized diaper and showed it to him.
“Our toilet needs a toilet of his own,” she said, and handed the diaper to the women gathered around his naked body.
Moments later he was no longer naked. His destiny was not just to be force fed body fluids, but to have to lie in them too.
What? That’s even more illogical. If they have diapers available why wouldn’t they just use those, instead of viciously abusing an innocent man. Me!
There are no innocent men. This isn’t abuse, this is justice. Suck it up.
(Then swallow it before you choke).
Oh, come on. I know you, I’ve read enough of your stories. You’re not one of those man hating feminists. What’s going on here?
It can’t be sexual, you’re not even into this!
Ah, you do know me.
No, it’s not sexual. I’m not into this. I just needed a frame for pursuing a non-narrative creative form of story telling and you happened to be available.
Enjoy.
*groan*