Scene 5

I was going crazy from the urge to defecate. The man seemed to know this and calmly stirred my insides with a composed expression. It seemed like he was determined to make me do something filthy. My face burned with shame, and tears welled up and spilled out.

I hadn’t even cried when I was being raped, but now it was finally bursting out.

I lifted my ass and shook my legs, tears dripping down as I begged:

“Ugh. No. This isn’t it, I don’t want this!”

I put all my strength into my legs to hold it in.

My left leg kept giving out. Supporting myself with my right leg, my whole body was exhausted.

“Then would you rather cum now and just take the punishment?”

“Give me the punishment. I’ll take it. Let me go to the bathroom. Please… please. Hic, please, hic, please.”

I was begging. I didn’t want to defecate on the man’s hand. Earlier, I had barely managed to urinate in the corner of the room after holding it in. I didn’t want to do anything filthier. There was such a thing as human dignity. No matter how extreme the situation, I wanted to hold onto that at least.

The man clicked his tongue as if it were a shame and pulled his hand out.

Then he picked me up in one swoop.

After kissing my cheek, he started to move.

I arrived at the relatively decent-looking bathroom. The bathroom was a little farther than the shower room. It wasn’t an all-in-one bathroom commonly seen in the Philippines.

As soon as I sat on the toilet, I let out what was inside.

I wished the man would leave the bathroom so I wouldn’t have to show him my filthy state, but he didn’t move far away. He stood right in front of me, looking down at me.

I still couldn’t see anything from his face, which seemed to be covered by something.

But I knew he was smiling and staring intently between my legs.

I defecated in front of the man. The hole hurt, but I pretended it didn’t. Then, thanks to his consideration, I urinated as well.

After finishing everything, I was carried to the shower room by the man without even wiping my ass. The man turned me around and poured water on my ass, muttering:

“Filthy.”

My face burned with shame. If he had just let me go to the bathroom on time, he wouldn’t have had to see me like this.

Contrary to his words, the man washed my ass carefully.

He even squeezed out body wash and rubbed it all over my body with his bare hands.

My ass was washed with strong hands. After silently washing my body for a while, the man suddenly said to me:

“About the punishment.”

“……Huh?”

“I thought about what would be a good punishment to give.”

“…….”

Punishment? The punishment he said he’d give me earlier.

The man tilted his head, looked at the showerhead, then turned it and took it out of the shower hose. Water that didn’t reach the showerhead overflowed and splashed onto the floor.

“Let’s try an enema.”

“What?”

“Lie face down.”

Was an enema the same as what I knew? I hesitated, not understanding why he was talking about it after removing the shower hose.

The man grabbed my waist and pressed me firmly against the bathtub.

I flinched at the hot sensation of the hose touching my ass. The man’s idea of “punishment” seemed to have a violent side to it. As I squirmed, he slapped my ass hard enough to make a sound. The wet slap on my ass sent an electric shock through my thighs.

Breathing heavily, I put my hands on the bathtub and leaned against it.

The hole, which had been abused in various ways, couldn’t possibly be intact, so I tensed up before it even touched me. The man stopped spreading my ass to give the enema and paused.

Then he muttered:

“The folds are swollen with blood. It might get infected.”

Surprisingly, the man put the shower hose away.

Then he brought tissues and gently wiped my ass. He brought a towel and wiped the water off my body, then squeezed out ointment and carefully applied it to the hole. After going through all this, I was carried out by him, still wearing heavy shackles, and asked:

“Punishment…?”

“Let’s postpone it until tomorrow.”

The man, as always, sat me in the kitchen. He turned on the coffee pot, poured cocoa powder into the mug, and handed me the cocoa.

Day two. I realized one rule.

The man came to the house in the early morning, fed me cocoa, then food, and took me to the bathroom.

That had now become a custom between him and me.

***

"Don’t you have a 9 AM class today? You should get up now if you don’t want to be late."

"That color doesn’t suit you."

My original studio apartment didn’t have curtains. I went through the trouble of buying a curtain rod and installing curtains to block the empty window.

It was all because of the stalker.

The stalker would send me a messenger message every morning as I woke up and finished washing my face. Every time I checked his message, I’d rush to the only small window, throw it open, and scan the alleyway. I’d check every window of the opposite building. In the university’s dormitory area, there were too many houses where people could see inside my room, and it was harder than I thought to find the house where the stalker might be living.

I hated getting fashion advice every morning or messages warning me about being late. So I installed curtains.

But even that relief was short-lived. My phone started ringing loudly. I picked it up to check the flood of messenger messages and froze.

"I’ve wanted to install a curtain in your place for a long time."

"The thought of other guys watching you change clothes in your defenseless, curtainless room."

"I really wanted to kill them."

"And you know."

"I wasn’t watching from outside the window."

"I like that expression you have right now."

"Thrilling."

Why hadn’t I thought of that? The fact that he’d been sneaking into my house like a ghost meant he’d had plenty of time to install something.

I dropped my phone with a thud and looked around.

My ordinary studio suddenly felt like a prison under surveillance. My home was no longer a comfortable place.

Goosebumps rose all over my body, and I couldn’t stay in my room any longer.

I grabbed the first shirt my hand touched from the hanger and hurriedly picked up the phone I’d dropped. As always, I didn’t reply to him and rushed out of the house.

At this point, I’d rather live with a ghost. I ran down the stairs and out of the building, still looking around.

The phone in my hand vibrated and rang. I didn’t want to check it. I turned it off.

I needed to organize my thoughts.

He knew my class schedule inside out and was probably always near me. Maybe he was even in the same college. The fact that messages came regularly but cut off from late morning to early evening suggested he had a job with fixed hours.

I couldn’t find a solution or figure out who the stalker was, but I headed to school for my afternoon class, making excuses about assignments to avoid going home all day.

I couldn’t avoid going back to my studio forever just because it felt scary. I was afraid to return alone, so I brought Denver with me. With two well-built men over 180 cm, I thought the stalker wouldn’t be able to do anything.

Denver didn’t complain much and came to my room, helping me find the hidden surveillance devices around the house.