Absolute Power-4. The First Trial.
Our procession moved to the wet area, which I called the pool. It was a large tiled bowl no less than 30 m² and about 40-50 cm deep. On the wall were several faucets and long hoses to wet every part of the pool. In the middle stood a stone bench 30 centimeters high, a couple of meters long, and slightly more than half a meter wide. As we were led to this bench, I noticed many drain holes in the floor. The entire audience had already migrated to the soft leather sofas around the pool and was watching as the master positioned us on the bench in a hole pose with our backs to them.
I was spreading my ass cheeks and trying to imagine what this rear internal trial we were about to face could be. My mind was flooded with porn videos of girls who impaled their asses on giant dildos, baseball bats, bottles, and other objects (the kind I sometimes masturbated to). What seemed like one of the scariest possibilities while preparing for this trip—someone with a cock bigger than 18 cm (my husband's size and my anal record) fucking me in the ass—now seemed quite harmless.
Meanwhile, the master was moving some objects behind our backs and pouring something from faucets outside my line of sight. After finishing, he stood in front of us (his crotch was about 15 cm from my face) and began explaining the essence to the hosts of the evening—and to us as well.
— To ensure our competition is fair, the contestants will be evaluated on a point system. On the wall in the corner, next to the entrance to the bathhouse, hang three numbered boxes. On your table, there are white chips that you can place in these boxes if any of the girls particularly pleases you. In the trials, we will award 3 chips for a win, 1 for second place, and nothing for last. Whoever has the most chips at the end of the event wins the super prize.
Our first trial is for endurance and patience. Of course, you are all eager to get to know them more closely, but for that, it would be proper for them to be prepared for it. At the same time, we can check whose ass is the tightest." As he spoke, he watched our faces and postures, barely touching our exposed holes with his disciplinary stick. On command, our holes' tongues were supposed to stick out, but it was quite exhausting. Dasha managed to swallow unnoticed once, but Vika and I twice got caught without our tongues out, and he lightly slapped us with the stick. The spots were the most sensitive, so even a light blow was enough to make us stick our tongues out more diligently.
The master performed some manipulations on Dasha, causing her to gasp sharply, and then approached me. I braced myself again for an invasion of my ass, but he first swiped my hole with cool lubricant, then confidently but not abruptly inserted something small—after the finger manipulations, it was even pleasant.
I had never been given an enema, aside from early childhood, so the trial itself didn't scare me too much, though it seemed unpleasant. But anything was better than some giant objects!
Meanwhile, the master finished the preparations and placed something like a hanger in front of us, with those very water bags dangling from the hooks. He pulled the tubes coming from the bags behind our backs, then connected them one by one to our plugs (I felt only a slight stirring). He also gently wiggled the plug, after which there was a sound of air, like when pumping a bulb on a blood pressure monitor—the plug grew slightly in volume and sat tighter. Then he simultaneously turned the taps near the bags, and the liquid began to flow into us.
— Gentlemen, now that the procedure is done, all that remains is to give it about half an hour to work properly. You can use this time to get to know the girls more intimately. You can deny yourselves nothing; they won't object. On the table by the sofas, you can take any props you like. Bitches, move to the sofas!
On one hand, I was glad for the change in position because I was all stiff and my knees were tired, but moving turned out to be even worse—the water sloshed with every movement and created new pockets of pain that were impossible to get used to. Groaning and wincing, we climbed off the bench, went up the steps, and limped to the sofas. I didn't know what to do next, but the esteemed guests themselves took the initiative.
First, a stout bald man around 60 years old called "number 1" over. When Dasha crawled to him, he extended his left foot and ordered her to lick his sole. She timidly and clumsily began running her tongue over it, which he watched intently. Then he gave her his other foot, but I didn't see the continuation because Vika and I were surrounded by men who started groping us. The master commanded us to "inspect," and we stood back to back—that way, at least it was easier to keep balance and we could strain our stomachs less. There was no outright roughness, but I felt like just an object to squeeze breasts, insert a finger into the pussy, or suck fingers: tasting of tobacco, sausage, or, if my receptors didn't deceive me, after our pussies. Had I been in this situation without the enema and the threat of getting hit with the stick for every wrong move, I might have even enjoyed it (after all, I hadn't had my husband for a while), but now the liquid in my stomach was cutting me with a hundred mini knives, and pleasure was the last thing on my mind.
Meanwhile, the bald man (judging by his voice, the main host of the evening) had already laid Dasha out on the floor. She was lying on her back with her knees pulled to her chest, and he was tugging at her clit and nipples with his fingers, causing our number 1 to squeak slightly.
Our hosts came up with a new amusement. They found dog squeaky balls in the props and started throwing them to us. Changing from a static position didn't please me, and when they decided to make it a race, even less so. The one who brought the ball last got a slap on the ass—I got at least five of those because Vika was more agile, even though her stomach was just as swollen (I beat her twice). For this, one of them even took a white chip from the table and, waving it in front of her nose, took it to box number 3. On the way back, this blonde bitch kissed his hand. "What a bitch!" I thought. The laxative was gaining momentum, and it felt like I was about to burst.
Suddenly, a shriek rang out, capturing the attention of everyone in the hall.
— Stooop, please! I beg you, I implore you, stop! Aaah, it's too much, I can't take it anymore!"...
To be continued.
P.S. Address to readers: you can suggest some topics you would like to see in this story. The author has a general narrative line, but the themes will allow for some digressions or weaving your ideas into the plot.