Monique came, of course, being cleaned by Clara. She didn’t squirt as much as Clara had earlier, but Clara’s face was still soaking by the time Monique had finished grinding herself into it. Monique fell over, exhausted finally, pushing Clara into the puddle of rice, and ketchup, and piss. The two girls were unable to move.

Adam returned after a while and surveyed them silently. Then he hauled Monique off the tarp, holding her roughly by her hair, and slapped her several times. “You were told to maintain that position,” he said. He quickly attached the police cuffs to her wrists and dragged her, sobbing, to where a thin chain was looped discretely from its anchorage in the ceiling around the side of the bookcase. Unlooping it, he shortly had her on her toes, arms suspended on the chain. Clara lay where she was.

Adam approached her next, pulling her up and propelling her to a small bathroom just off the living room. He supported her, facing the full-length mirror that faced the room. “Look at yourself.”

Clara gasped. In the space of a few short hours, she had been transformed. Gone was the cool, sleek young woman she had inspected before setting off to meet Adam. She would not recognize this girl if she saw her on the street. She was covered in the excreta of the day. Her long dark hair was clumped and matted with her own come, with Monique’s piss, with bits of rice and streaks of ketchup. Bruises were starting to form on her breasts and thighs where Monique had bitten her. She had several vicious slash marks where Adam had struck her with the whip. Her face was tear-streaked and, somehow the most embarrassing, streaked with mucus as well. Her careful makeup had become a parody of itself.

And yet, as Adam held her, his hand firmly wrapped in her hair, forcing her to face her image, she felt oddly at peace. “This is my slut, my whore, my slave,” Adam whispered. She leaned against him. It was true. “Do you want something different?” he asked. “Do you want to be clean, untouched, free?” She considered. She thought of the girl who had walked in not so long before. For some reason, she had a sudden, irrelevant image of her stockings, sheer silk that she had pulled carefully over her smooth calves that morning.

She cried out as Adam hauled her to face him and slapped her, hard, across the mouth. “Answer me.” - “No, Adam. This is where I want to be. Please let me be your slave, your whore.” - “Good girl. Good slave. I like to hear that.” She liked to hear him say it. Already she lived for it.

He pushed her roughly away from him and she fell awkwardly, jamming her wrist painfully as she landed. “On your knees, then.” Adam entered the bathroom and she could hear taps being opened. He called to her, “Clara, come in here.” She crawled after him. “Clean yourself up, Clara.” The door closed behind him.

It was a well-appointed room, large for a spare bathroom. A space designed for a man with taste and money. The shower was separate from the bath and featured steam as well as several spigots; there was a flat-screen TV easily viewable from the sink or the tub; everything necessary was within easy reach. The bath was already half full.

Clara didn’t want to get into the tub, though, to sit in the filth that would wash off her. She looked at the shower, considering whether she had permission to use it. Well, he had told her to clean up. She turned off the running spigots and stepped into the marble enclosure.

She showered swiftly, uncertain whether Adam would approve of this innovation. She did, however, wash her hair several times. When she finally felt that she was clean again – or as clean as I will ever be, she thought wryly – she stepped out of the shower and hesitantly dried herself on the thick bath sheet. Now that she was clean, her few bruises and welts were more apparent. She looked at herself with some bemusement.

The bath was full and steaming, and clearly Adam had intended her to use it. Perhaps this was meant to be a reward? She could hear Monique whimpering in the next room. It took a lot to make her cry out. She must be gagged. Whatever he was doing to her, it sounded close to unbearable. Slowly she knotted her hair above her head, blocking out the sound. There was no use in speculating why she had been taken to bathe and Monique apparently was being tortured in the next room. Besides, she strongly suspected that it would be her turn next. Whether she pitied or triumphed, anticipated or feared, the result would be the same. Adam would do what pleased him, and she and Monique would be the canvas for his designs.

Slowly she stepped into the tub and lowered herself into the hot water. She hissed as the water made contact with her sore flesh, but soon was relaxing with just her head above the water-line. She was not given long to enjoy herself, however. As the door opened the sound of Monique’s agony became momentarily louder, then almost completely ceased as Adam closed the door firmly behind him. She suddenly found herself deeply frightened.

Adam’s warm smile erased her nameless fears. “Taking it easy? Good. You’ve earned it, I think. Why is your hair tied above your head? Haven’t you washed it yet?” - “Yes, Adam. I showered first. I’m just keeping it out of your tub.” - “Oh, that’s all right. Let’s see if you’ve gotten – everything – out of it.” He was untwisting the large knot at the top of her head as he spoke. He ran the heavy length of her hair through his hands. “You seem to have done an excellent job. Let’s just rinse it again, though.”

His voice altered. “Slide down in the tub and put your hands behind your back.” Clara obeyed, her wide eyes never leaving his. He dipped her head back and swirled the strands through the water. He hands caressed her neck, her face. He ran a finger over her lips, stroked inside her open mouth.

“Clara, take a breath.” She did, and slowly the hands pushed her head down until she was completely submerged. She closed her eyes and fought the emerging panic. He’s done nothing terrible yet, she thought, but it was almost impossible to lie still, to keep her body relaxed.

He released her shortly and waited as she caught her breath, her heart racing. Her hands were still clasped behind her. That wasn’t so bad, she thought. He let me up in plenty of time to breathe. She tried to tell herself that her panic had been silly. “Again, Clara.” I can do this, she thought. Again he held her just until the panic began; again he released her just as her lungs began to ache. As she caught her breath she began to feel stronger. I can do this.

“Again.” She took another deep breath. This isn’t unbearable.

This time he held her longer. She waited until the ache began in her lungs, the moment when he had released her before. He held her submerged. She squirmed slightly, hoping to indicate her distress. There was no response. Now she panicked in earnest. Her heart was pounding; she could hear a rushing in her ears; behind her closed lids deeper blotches of blackness swarmed and coalesced. She feared that she could not do this. In a moment she would begin to struggle, she would grab his hands away from her face, she would emerge, gasping and shaking. She would fail. Five more seconds, she thought. I can wait to the count of five. She counted slowly. I can wait for another five, she thought again.

He released her. She came up gasping, but this time she was not given time to catch her breath. After two deep, painful inhalations she was again submerged. No. No, I’ve not had time to breathe. I can’t do this. The agony was worse this time. The blood roared in her ears; the blackness came pressing behind her eyes almost immediately. He held her under. She wriggled in the water; her body strained upward; finally even her hands no longer remained behind her but clawed at the sides of the tub. They did not touch Adam’s, however, did not grab at them to pull them away from her face. Somehow she knew that he would not forcibly hold her; if she pulled at his hands they would not fight her.

Now she was thrashing, and still he kept her from the air she needed. But she refused to grab at his hands, to pull them away from her. She would not struggle against him but only against herself, willing herself to remain where he wanted her. Still he held her down. She inhaled slightly.

At that moment he released her, pulled her upright, held her shoulders as she sputtered and choked and tears leaked from her eyes. She breathed deeply of the precious air, leaning against him, sobbing softly. When she had recovered he kissed her firmly on top of her head and left without a word. Slowly she leaned back into the water.