Filth

He beckons me to kneel by him and he pushes me with his foot. A decent kick under the stairs into the corner. 

 There's shock. Tears start to whell up. I'm confused and unsure of why or what or what's to come. He puts my glass of water down next to me on the floor. "Drink. Now". I snivel and sip, snot running from my nose. I finish the glass and hide in my corner under the stairs. He ignores me completely bar refilling my glass and commanding the same order again.  The water starts to travel through me. Im desperate to attend to my bladder. I ask. He ignores me.  I beg to be allowed to use the bathroom in a sniffling yelp. He says "No. Where you are".

I hold for aslong as I can but it's too painful, the feeling gets too strong. I start to release. My knickers become completely sodden. Piss starts to pool around me on the floor. I'm crying again. I feel humiliated. He ignores me. I beg to be allowed to clean up. I'm on the floor of my knees. My shins are bruising. I'm cleaning up the urine with pieces of kitchen towel.  He beckons me towards him. He's smoking a cigarette. He tells me to open my mouth and threatens to put his cigarette out on my tongue. I panic hysterically and try to scuttle back into the corner. He grips my arm tightly and shouts at me "Open your mouth". I can't do it. I'm shaking and trying but I can't make my lips part. I'm so scared. He let's me go eventually and I slide back into my corner and cry again, this time in pathetic failure.

 He continues to give me glass upon glass of water. It hurts to drink it. My stomach feels swollen and my lungs hurt. He ignores me but to pass me glass upon glass. I beg not to have to drink any more. I beg not to have to releave myself on the floor again. He walks to the bottom of the stairs and looks at me through the gaps in the steps. They feel like bars in my cell. He pulls my head through the gap, yanking me by my hair. My neck stretches and the bones hurt. He kisses my lips and spits in my face. I hear that mental zing as he unzips his jeans and he sighs and pisses through the slats straight onto my face. His urine is in my eyes and on my cheeks. I poke out my little pink tongue like a dog and catch droplets of clear gold. I can feel arousal seep between my legs, mixing with the drying itch of my own effluence.

 Next time I have to beg to urinate he allows me to piss in a water jug. I squat over the jug and easily fill a litre. He's still making me drink, constantly and my body is straining not to vomit. He tells me to stand and take off any clothes I have left on.  He picks up the jug and pours it over my head. I am soaked. I beg to be allowed to clean up and he let's me mop down the tiles. I go back to my corner. I'm very cold.

My teeth chatter. My skin itches. I reek of piss and patheticness. I have asked if I may smoke a few times. He has ignored me. He gives me a cigarette now and lights it for me. Im shaking violently. I look into his eyes and smile and whisper a thank you. He is everything here. Now, what else is there? I can see the flowers on the kitchen table through my itchy red eyes. They look so beautiful. The air is humid with the musk of human waste. 

 He leans down into my space, takes me by my little hand, helps me up and walks me upstairs. He stands me in the shower and begins to gently wash my hair. I can't cry anymore. Spit and drool drip from my mouth. He runs soap over my pale, ruined flesh. He wraps a towel around me and we go to bed.