There was a tube coming from her slit. That tube was a catheter and it had been slipped up inside her urethra. All the way up, and then down into her bladder.

"Please. Please I won't go without permission I promise."

Tessa's pleading had taken on a more or less one dimensional approach. To her she was having her right to toilet taken away from her and she couldn't understand that. There was a lot she couldn't understand. There was something formulating in her fucked up mind. And that was the fact that she was going through what she was going through because of her arousal. She was guilty for her arousal and so she had to bear the brunt of it in the form of various indignities, and sufferings. It was the way she coped with it. The only way she could cope with it. And in the middle of the trying to cope with it, it was only natural that she would try to negotiate her way out of certain things that she didn't understand the most.

"This is non-negotiable Tessa. You KNOW that you don't deserve to simply be able to control your own bodily functions yourself. You KNOW that we cannot let that happen. You KNOW that what we are doing to you and with you is very necessary. And most of all that it is non-negotiable."

Sarka's voice was slightly more edgy as she worked Tessa's mind. Harsh even as she slipped the catheter fully into the bladder of the prose, exposed, vulnerable girl. There had been a moment. Somewhere along the line there had been a moment where it was a given that all of the blame for the predicament that Tessa was in lay completely and totally at her own door. There was no distinct or measurable time when that had happened. It was almost just like it was a 'given'. That she had been taken out of circulation and it was all her fault. There could be no other person, or thing at fault except her own. And there was no dispute about that. Tessa accepted it. She accepted it because the sexual arousal had made it so. She was ashamed and guilty and so it was all her fault. Simple really? The simple and pure way that a sadist, or group of sadists could fuck with a victim's head and mind. No negotiation, no discussion, just the heaping of blame - and more guilt and more shame. Tessa pouted a little. As she did that she trailed her slender fingers over the tip of her bulbous clitoris. Her eyes lit up when she felt that contact. Her fingertips, her nails sliding through wetness over that hyper-sensitive bundle of nerves.

Sarka licked her own lips at what she was doing to this girl. Making sure the catheter was fully inserted before inflating it. That was the unnecessary bit. The inflation of the catheter. That process one that was minutely controlled, and nuanced in how it was inflicted. The end of the catheter first - the end inside Tessa's bladder, expanding into a bulb shape. Like a balloon within the bladder. That balloon taking up the space that would be normally reserved for the collection and the processing of urine. With that bulb, the space for urine seriously impeded. The secondary phase of the inflation process then the inflation of the tube itself. That tube inflating but then stretching open the uterus tube. That very action causing some discomfort. Even the slightest stretching of that internal flesh would be enough to make Tessa suck in breath between gritted teeth. But this opening up of the flesh was not restricted to a little bit. Rather that was the first hiss of compressed air. That movement and that stretching inside her making her suck in that breath. But then the second hiss stretching the thin tubal flesh to painful limits. It was that pain, that sharp almost stinging pain that made the girl plead and beg.

"Please, please I don't like this. Please don't do this to me."

The tears were real. Big squelching tears squeezing from her eyes and rolling down her cheeks. Sarka working with precision. She was meaning what she was saying. She didn't like it. The pain. The discomfort. Sarka was working but she was watching as well. She was making mental notes. She loved the tone of the girl's voice. The pleading was genuine. It wasn't a ploy. It wasn't her attempt to trick the torturer into being a little softer on her. It told Sarka that this girl, the girl who had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth was out of her comfort zone. Well out of her comfort zone. Sarka liked that. She let a little more compressed air hiss into that tube and she watched Tessa as she screwed up her face. And yet even though she screwed up her face with the discomfort and pain, she was still playing her fingertips over the tip of her clitoral nerves. Sarka liked that as well. This was a young girl seeking comfort in the one thing that she could find comfort. Her own sexuality. The one thing that made her ashamed and guilty also gave her comfort. That was deliciously twisted and fucked up for Sarka. She liked that.

"No more peeing for you. Now you will be toileted three times a day. Now you will depend on one of us toileting you. This will go down to twice a day, then once a day. Then bi-daily. Your bladder restricted and trained."

Sarka was telling the girl how it would be. How it was going to be. It might have been a bit of a joke to say that what this group did was 'experiment' on their victims. But it was true none the less. Sarka would experiment on Tessa. She would push her to the limits and beyond. And then she would push her some more. She would see how far she could push a girl of this age and of this maturity. She would experiment on her. She would use her to learn. She would use her to devise tortures that would defy belief in the normal world. She would break this girl down on a basis so gradual and yet so complete and so total that even her parents wouldn't recognise her in the future. Indeed, even that might be an experiment in itself. Do the worst possible to and with Tessa and then re-introduce her to her parents. Yummy! Sarka was making mental notes all of the time.