Even the crudest, most minimal intrusion, even her roughly thrust single digit, even that is met with such a hunger for more stimulation that she'll feel the muscles inside of him tighten around her, but she takes it from him, and with it is that sticky, thick trail of dark viscous blood. He makes a faint, ragged breathing sound, not quite a pleading whine, as she smears it along the cold white tub bottom.

But he's given no chance to voice his protest more clearly, because she reaches for the tap, startling him with the first rush of icy cold water, its flow capturing the edges of his spilled blood, lapping at his skin with a shock bordering on pain--and rapidly blossoming into it, his wrists twisting in their bonds, feet sliding uselessly on the slick tub bottom as he tries to back away.

"Ah-- ah, aah, ah--!" Begging syllables, meaningless sounds of pleading distress as she pours more of it over his bare chest and shoulder, cascading pink down his naked front, around and over his navel, down to the bloody gash between his legs.