I lay him in the empty bath on his back, cover his face with a damp washcloth, stroking it smooth against his skin.
I hold the cup of water above him, and pour it slowly over the cloth, the sticky terry toweling gaining weight, clinging to the shape of him, his eyes, his nostrils, his mouth.
I see him open his mouth further, like the silent scream, he gurgles, trying to blow the fabric off his mouth as the water slides into it and down to the back of his throat, I watch the material sucking into his mouth as he tries to get air, the steady stream of water unforgiving, his body tensing, his chest rising and falling more quickly, he is making odd sounds, but is not panicing yet. I can see him concentrating on breathing, calming himself, making wet sounds against the washcloth.
The water runs out, he feels a quick reprieve, he draws air in quickly through the wetness, he knows he hasn’t much time, his dehumanised body convulsing as if every cell is trying to grab oxygen from the air, his cock hard from fear and anticipation of more. He sucks desperately through the cloth for air.
I refill the cup, I whisper nothing to him, he whimpers before the next stream of water hits the cloth. There are sucking sounds echoing through the room as he swallows water and air, the wetness of the cloth stifling him, and still I let the water run over his face, he squirms and tries not to panic, his faceless body straining against the sides of the bath, the wet desperate sucking sounds are frightening, he tries not to let the fabric gag him, pushing it out with his tongue even as he sucks it in wetly with his breath.
This… this is what it feels like to drown in a cup of water.