Cold Metal Rods and Screams in an Inverted World
"Shall we begin?"
The cold metal rod in the Hospital Director's hand flashed. Na-bi tried, by instinct, to clamp her thighs shut, but her body would not listen. The muscle relaxant had dissolved every tendon; her legs hung open, trembling with a helpless, continuous shiver.
"N-no... I'm scared..."
Her pupils blew wide, locked on the metal rod. Long, slender, a smooth shaft of silver. The tip had been rounded blunt, but the mere thought of it entering her womb sent a crawl of horror down her spine.
"Scared? This is treatment."
The Hospital Director smiled, thin and sour, and stepped between her legs. He did not reach for gel. Last night's cruelty had left her entrance swollen and weeping, and that natural, agonizing slickness was lubricant enough.
The cold tip of the rod kissed her entrance. It felt like an ice cube dragged across mucosa that still burned as if it had been scalded.
"Hhk—!"
Na-bi's hips jerked off the mattress. He pushed in without a flicker of hesitation.
A wet grind, then a deep slide. The thinnest dilator — three millimeters — slipped along her inner walls and found the tightly shut mouth of her cervix, the external os. A small, catching knock.
"Here we are."
He put his weight behind it and drove it through.
"Aaaagh!"
Her scream rang off the ward walls. The mouth of her womb was forced open. A door that was meant to stay closed, pried apart by a rod of steel — a dull, vicious pain detonating from the deepest part of her belly at the same instant as something sharp.
The Hospital Director shoved the rod all the way into the uterine cavity, then drew it out again. Bloody fluid clung to the metal and followed it in a thick, wet thread.
"Still too tight. We'll have to open you further."
He tossed the three-millimeter onto the floor with a careless clink and picked up the next size: five millimeters.
"Now. Relax."
His hand found her cervix again. This one was thicker. The sensation of entry was different — flesh stretching past its limit, a tearing that she could almost hear.
A creak of splitting tissue. A grind.
"Aagh! It's tearing! It hurts! Doctor!"
Na-bi clawed the bedsheets and howled. He did not stop. The five-millimeter went in and came straight out; he reached for the seven, then the nine, then the eleven. This was not a medical dilation. It was a precise and savage rape conducted with cold iron.
When the eleven-millimeter rod punched through her cervix and seated itself deep, he took the handle and began to turn it, slow circles, as if stirring something inside her. Mucosa scraped against metal in a sound that crawled under the skin. Blood and fluid stood in for gel, wet and obscene, but the chill of the steel never became familiar. Inside her belly a hard foreign body pressed and pressed, shoving her organs out of their proper places.
"Nnh— hhnnn...!"
Pickled in muscle relaxant, her abdomen gave a strange, involuntary writhe. Every time the tip of the rod raked the uterine wall, a pain like an awl gouging out her insides ran up her spine and stabbed her brain. He did not pause. He worked the rod up and down with a rough, testing violence, as if forcing the pins of a broken lock, probing the elasticity of her cervical mouth.
"Far too stiff. You need to let go more than that."
A thrust. A thud. A grind. One hand pinned her pubic bone; the other drove the rod in a rapid piston. There was none of the warmth a body might have given. Only the pitiless hardness of metal, pulverizing the softest part of her without mercy.
On the way in, it tore the os wider and forced itself through. On the way out, it sucked clinging scraps of flesh after it like a vacuum.
A long, wet pull — then a pop. Every time the rod left her, air escaped the uterine cavity in a raw, naked burst of sound.
"Haa... haa..."
Na-bi lay with her mouth open like an animal, panting. The emptiness that followed the rod's withdrawal was worse. The forcibly stretched mouth of her womb would not close; it flexed and gaped, and air moved in and out of that loosened hole, a cold, aching pain.
The Hospital Director stared between her legs as if looking through a specimen glass.
"Look. Look at what happened to your hole."
His fingers hooked her entrance and pulled it wide. The cervix, flushed past red into a bruised violet, lay fully exposed. The mouth that the metal had forced was tattered, twitching in little spasms — like the gills of a fish drowning in air.
"It's so loose I can see straight inside. The blood's pooled. A rather pretty color, actually."
He flung the eleven-millimeter onto the floor. The bright clang of metal scraped along her nerves. Her womb was shredded meat, but in his eyes it was still an unfinished piece of work.
"Last one. The thickest."
He picked up the thirteen-millimeter dilator, a steel column thicker than a finger, and set it against the ruined os.
A deep, wet punch — then a crunch of giving flesh.
"AAAAAGH——!!!!!! Ah. Aaaah."
Her cervix screamed. Flesh tore away. Vessels burst. The Hospital Director buried the thick rod to the very end of her womb and let go of the handle.
A dull metallic rattle. The grip jutted obscenely from between her thighs, ticking in time with her pulse. Every breath she took drove the steel in her belly against her organs.
"Ah...... aaah......"
She panted like a beast. Is it over? What he did next was nothing she had expected.
He took her by the ankles and dragged her toward the foot of the bed.
"Treatment's finished. Time for your injection."
He did not turn her over. He locked both hands around her waist and dropped her upper body off the edge of the mattress.
"Wh—? What?!"
Her head plunged toward the floor. Hung upside down, blood slammed into her skull. The world inverted. The ceiling became the floor; the floor became the ceiling.
And then there was the dilator still seated in her womb. Suspended, gravity drove the rod deeper. It struck the fundus with a heavy, internal thud.
"Ghhk! My— my stomach—!"
Na-bi flailed at empty air. The Hospital Director hooked her thighs around his waist and locked them there. Between her spread legs, the handle of the steel rod jutted out like something obscene and wrong.
"Open your mouth."
In her inverted vision, his cock loomed toward her face — a thick, flushed column, veins crawling under the skin, swollen larger by the trick of gravity.
"Ah...... no......"
She tried to turn her head. He set his foot on her hair and pinned it to the floor. There was nowhere to go.
He tapped the head of his cock against her nose, her lips — idle, almost playful — and then shoved it in without a pause.
A gag. A retch. Deep-throating upside down was several times worse than anything she had known. Bile tried to climb her esophagus and she had to crush it down; her airway was compressed, and breathing became a far more desperate labor.
"Mph! Nnghh—!"
He started to move. A downward piston, driving from above. Every stroke shook her body, and every shake made the metal buried in her womb scrape and batter the uterine wall.
A grind. A crunch. A wet tear of tissue.
Above, her throat was being bored open. Below, her womb was being ruined by steel. Both ends of her, pierced at once. Blood roared in her head until the pressure behind her eyes felt ready to burst. She thought her eyeballs would come out of their sockets.
"That's it...... you're gripping beautifully......"
His breathing roughened. He savored her suffering, deliberately breaking the rhythm — fast, then still, then a sudden deep thrust. Na-bi gurgled like an animal. Spit and bile ran from the corners of her mouth and soaked her forehead. Tears and snot smeared her face into a wreck.
He did not stop. He reached down and took hold of the dilator's protruding handle.
"They should move together, don't you think?"
While he used her mouth, he worked the rod below — forward and back, side to side, and then a twist, a rotation inside the torn cervix.
A rattling grind. A knock. Another knock.
"Hhk!!!!!! Nnnnnn!!!!!!"
Her body jumped like a fish on a hook. The steel danced inside her womb. The pain of metal gouging the already-torn wound at her cervix was beyond language. Her mouth was full; she could not even scream. A silent hell.
"Hahaha! Magnificent! I can practically see all the way through you!"
The Hospital Director threw his head back and laughed. He yanked the dilator out and slammed it home again, and in the same instant snapped his hips and drove himself to the root of her throat.
A wet punch — a heavy thud.
"Khhaak!!!!!!"
Na-bi's eyes rolled. Consciousness flickered, threatening to go out. Her brain screamed for oxygen.
A shuddering pulse. He came. Hot semen poured down her esophagus. Hung upside down, she could barely swallow. It backed up into her nasal passages and sealed them shut.
"Swallow it. Don't spill."
He pinched her nose closed. She gulped it down because she wanted to live. The rank, nauseating fluid went into her stomach.
He pulled out. Na-bi hung with her skull against the floor, gasping. Her face was flushed as if it might burst; her eyes had gone slack and empty.
He did not set her upright. Still inverted, he looked between her legs. Blood was running from the hole around the seated dilator, reversing along her belly toward her chest, spreading over white skin in a grotesque, living tattoo.
"One more thing."
He drew the dilator out of her in a single pull. A pop — then a gush. Blood came in a rush. Na-bi made a wounded sound. He ignored it and walked to the cart, and picked up a new instrument.
A thin, long metal pin, pointed at the tip, with a heavy bead seated at the end.
A slender, pointed metal pin designed to travel the full length of the urethra. A heavy bead seats against the meatus and seals it shut.
⚠ Insertion will tear mucosal tissue. Voiding is impossible while seated.
"I think we need to plug that unruly urethra of yours."
He came back to her. In Na-bi's swimming vision the pin glittered. Her urethra? The hole she pissed from? He was going to put that in there?
"D-don't...... don't......"
She shook her head, a smear of sound. He spread her labia minora and found the urethral opening — a small, red hole.
"Hold still. If I miss, it will hurt."
A precise, cold poke. The tip of the pin pricked the urethral meatus, and a bright, electric pain shot all the way to her bladder.
"Hhk—!"
"Going in."
A long, slow slide. The slender metal pin traveled up her urethra. An alien, keen pain; a rawness as if the mucosa were splitting. Na-bi stopped breathing.
He pushed it to the end. The bead seated flush against the opening. Sealed.
"Now you can't even piss without my permission."
The Hospital Director smiled, satisfied, and hauled her back onto the bed. Na-bi sprawled where he dropped her. Her womb was shredded meat. Her throat was raw. Her urethra was stopped with steel. Every hole she had, he had used.
The morning of Day Six. For Na-bi, who remembered nothing, this was only the opening of a new hell. The Hospital Director glanced at his watch and murmured to himself.
"What shall we do this afternoon. There's so much more that's interesting."
His gaze traveled over her convulsing body. Day Six was not finished. Day Seven was still waiting. Hours of pain she would never remember — and that would, forever, begin again.