Butt naked and strung up in the out building is where we find Lolita. The wrist of one arm is pulled up and attached to the ceiling. She can barely place one big toe onto the floor. She does have another option, however. The very small, very short metal post mounted just below her. It is capped with copper and electrified. If she wants respite from that arm being pulled taunt, indeed her whole body pulled taunt, she can rest one foot on that metal post. We watch as her long, lithe body strains under the weight of itself. She moves one foot to the post and then the next. She can’t balance and routinely finds herself swaying and catching her bound arm with her free one. Adding to her discomfort a tight crotch rope is applied, looping ultimately around her neck and tied off in the back. It digs deeply into her cunt. She whimpers as I walk away, clearly in more distress than before. You can see on her face she knows she will be tested. It is a slow cracking of her spirit. Where she first seemed in control and ready for anything she now starts to break. Her breathing grows more and more labored and at times she releases a moan or whimper she didn’t know wanted out. She looks up at her bound wrist above her head with desperation. Anguish envelopes her countenance. When the power gets turned on to her little support post she writhes. Her whimpers turn into a cacophony of movement, sounds and pain. What little relief she could obtain from the short post now comes at a desperate price. Sweat beads on her forehead and runs down her sides. Her look of desperation now complete. She tries to muster one last bit of self control and then it is done: She is broken and the tears begin to fall. When we find her next she is again standing in the out building. Wearing only her tight jeans and a translucent latex hood, her neck is collared and a chain runs from it to the ceiling. She has small little holes in which to breathe through, just at her nostrils. Eye holes allow her vision. We can see her face all smashed inside, the mask giving her an otherworldly appearance. Almost like she isn’t human, a rubber dolly instead. One arm is jacked up behind her back and tied off while the other is bound at the wrist and tied by a crotch rope through her legs. She frequently shifts her stance, widening and lessening the width of her legs in an effort to release the pressure of her collared neck. I add a spreader bar to her ankles to keep her position at its maximum discomfort. Her latex mask is so tight around her head she is unable to speak. She is asked a question: What was the last thing you masturbated too? She tries to answer but can’t open her mouth. She struggles with it a minute, making noises of struggle, trying to move her mouth. She is prompted again for an answer. She states something completely unintelligible and muffled. She is asked to repeat herself until we can understand her. She is exasperated. We hear only the sounds of her sucking air through her small nose holes. It is loud and with a measure of fear, of growing desperation. A small trickle of fluid -–is it snot or sweat?-- can be seen running from one of her nose holes and down the latex mask. Her biggest task is staying calm, to keep her breathing steady and free of panic. When the Hitachi hits her cunt that becomes much more of a challenge. Indeed, her breathing quickens, the sound of sucking air fills the room and competes with the buzz of the Hitachi. She starts to panic, losing her battle to get enough oxygen. The vibrator is pulled away, pulled just in time for her to get her composure back and then it hits her cunt again. She bucks around in a total panic before the mask is pulled away from her face and she is able to suck in as much air as she needs to calm herself. When she regains her composure she is told to pull her jeans down as far as possible and to show you her pussy. Then the Hitachi is placed in her hand and she is forced to masturbate herself in front of you. As her excitement grows so does her despair, her ability to control her breathing. She struggles for every breath she takes, she sucks the air from outside into her nose holes with great force. Her face beneath the mask is covered in sweat, it runs from each of her nose holes. Her need builds, her sexual desire increases at the same rate she needs oxygen until it builds to a crescendo. Suddenly we hear her muffled, desperate request for permission to cum. Granted. She explodes into a mass of raw emotion. She screams behind the mask. The whole of her body tenses and shakes as if she were having a seizure. She is rigid. Then all out panic over takes her. Now we find Lolita nude and atop The Box. She is manacled to it hand and foot in the prone position. Her chest hangs over the far end. Wide strips of copper lie beneath her breasts and abdomen. She is being electrocuted. A tight collar around her neck is chained to the ceiling. She spends all of her time trying to minimize the shock. She can raise herself up and off the copper for only so long before her arms grow weary from fatigue. Then she must lie atop the copper sheathing again. We watch her as she lowers herself, just barely touching her tits to the copper before screaming out and picking herself back up. But she ultimately finds herself forced to endure the shock so her body can rest enough to pick herself back up again to escape the surging electricity. It is wearing her down. She grows more and more fatigued, more weary and exhausted until finally she blurts out: Oh Fuck! Then the tears begin to fall and she is once again broken. That is the point in which she has a massive orgasm. Nude and on her chest with her ass in the air is how we find Lolita next. A 16lb. bowling ball is fastened to one ankle. Her arms are in a strappado behind her back. A IV stand is rolled over to her with a 5 quart enema bag hanging off of it. It is full of milk. I pop an enema nozzle into her ass hole. She nervously looks behind her trying to see what I will do next. I stop and ask her whether she has ever had an enema before. No, she says. I ask her what she thinks will be happening next: I really don’t know, she replies. I take a black ball gag and tightly buckle it into her face hole and start the milk flowing. It only takes moments before she groans once and then twice. Soon, she begins to groan in an awful, woeful way. Consistently, rhythmically. The flow is stopped and I question her. I ask her how it feels in her body. She lets me know she needs to “poop”. When her cramps subside I let the flow start up again. We go through this dance several times, listening to her wail and deal with the cramps before they subside and more milk is discharged into her rectum. But it is getting harder and harder for her to deal with the pain in her body. That personal pain of needing to shit violently. In spite of her cries and cramps, in spite of the shriek of her panic and urgency I put still more milk inside of her. She isn’t sure she can handle it, the look of terror on her face when she sees me go to release yet more milk leaves no doubt she is at her limit, at her ability to keep from shitting on herself. She starts to beg for permission to “poop”. Her requests just get more and more desperate and needy. She is literally begging to take a shit. When the bag is emptied I warn her not to let any out and then remove the nozzle from her shit hole. Then she is told to get up and go fetch her bathroom, a tin bucket sitting across the room. She makes her way up and stands. She hunches over as she drags the bowling ball attached to her ankle toward the far side of the room. When she collects her bucket she brings it back to where she received the enema so that she can squat over it and release it. She cries from frustration and need, she needs to go bad and it takes time to get her bathroom in place. Once she does she is told to squat and shit in it. Without any hesitation she does just that. At first her embarrassment controls her ability to let it flow from her ass. It is clear from the sound of the milk hitting the bottom of the bucket that her sphincter is still tightly closed, her shame not allowing her to relax in this humiliating situation. But then urgency takes over where shame left off and the milk begins to rush from her ass. The sound of it filling the bucket lets you know she isn’t holding back one bit now. It sounds like a tap has been turned on full blast. I make her stare at you, The Viewer, while she releases it. And it is clear from her face that absolute relief is washing over her. It even trumps her dehumanization. Her ball gagged face looks back at you as she empties quarts of milk out of her ass hole. I tell her how disgusting what she is doing is --even as the full sound of milk gushing from her hole splashes into her bucket. When she drops her head in shame I yell at her to keep looking at you, The Viewer. It seems like the flow of milk from her ass will never cease. It is loud and obvious when more than milk finds its way from her dirty hole. You can hear it splash as she stares at you in humility. At times she moans in unison with the massive flow of liquid leaving her behind. It causes large spit bubbles to pop from behind her ball gag, and yet, the milk just keeps flowing. She begins to cry as all sort of disgusting noises start coming from her ass –and still she is made to stare at you. And it is disgusting. It reminds one of the sounds you might hear from a highway rest stop in the men’s room of a guy who consumed way to many spicy tacos the day before. Keep staring at the camera! Finally she muffles out a statement: I’m done. She is told to get up with her bucket and show it to you, The Viewer. I ask her what is in it. I make her look at it. I make her tell me what made those disgusting turds. When I can’t understand her I make her tell me again until we can understand her. When I’m satisfied I have her take her bucket back across the room, ankle still chained to the bowling ball and place it back where she found it.