Chapter 28 – Nurse in a Hole
It was obvious that our little community at the Chateau was about to change. That’s not to say that change hadn’t been almost constant since I inherited the run-down Chateau in Croatia and then discovered the group of English cyclists squatting on my ‘estate.’ I allowed the group to stay, we imprisoned Heather in a consensual non-consensual arrangement, I met and hired Lucija, I moved my sex toy business to Croatia and put a lot more of the group to work. After a while we met more and more locals and included Dr. Ana and her nurse Sara in the circle.
But after almost two years of communal living, the group seemed to be breaking up. Carl and Ana had obviously fallen in love and Carl had moved in with her. Oh, they came around often enough, but the original leader of the cycling group was now a part time member. Mal was still living at the Chateau but was spending almost all of this time working construction jobs around the community. I also noticed Mal was spending a lot of time talking about his father’s construction business back home and how worried he was about his father’s health. I just figured that if Mal decided to go home, Reese would go with him.
Tim, bless his heart, seemed to tire of being Lucija’s sub, especially since it was becoming increasingly obvious that she was never going to reciprocate his devotion. And sure enough, one day he was gone. At breakfast Lucija asked, “Anyone seen Tim today? He cleaned his stuff out of ‘our’ room upstairs?”
“I thought he talked to you,” Mal looked concerned, “Last night I noticed he was checking the air on his bike, then this morning he was strapping his saddlebags on the bike. When I asked him where he was going, he just said ‘home,’ and peddled off towards town.”
Lucija later found out that he had just shown up at the Mayor’s office and asked for ‘his’ envelope, so the Mayor gave it to him.
And that was the last we saw or heard from Tim. After Tim left, Lucija started spending most nights at the university dorm.
Any discussion or decision that involved the whole Chateau community was usually announced or discussed at dinner. We would pass the word that, on a particular evening, they might want to be present. And so, on a Wednesday evening I fired up the grill and smoked some bone in lamb chops and Paula fixed some outstanding sides. I had invited Sara and Quinn Gruba and made sure that Dr. Ana and Carl would be over for dinner. The topic? The Grubas had approached me last week to ask if Sara could spend some time in our oubliette, well actually an old cistern in the backyard. Sara had become obsessed with it from the first time she saw it and her husband was supportive of her kinks in general.
We ate around the fire pit out back, which just happened to be next to the cistern. Heather’s presence wasn’t required since she had no say in anything, but I was curious. “Who’s the DIC today?” DIC was short for Dominant In Charge of Heather for the day. We started a rotation to make sure someone was always responsible for our slut.
Cradic answered, “I am, and if you’re wondering, the Slut is earning some iPad points while getting a nice deep penetrating breast massage at the moment.” To which Maggie snickered while Cradic continued, “She’s safe and sound in her cell, we’ll take her some lamb chops later, she can probably eat them in her current position.”
OK, now I was more interested than ever, Cradic has become a very creative sadist in the last year, and I was glad Maggie usually kept him from going too overboard. But checking out the slut’s current predicament would have to wait.
“While the Lamb finishes cooking, let’s get to why I called this gathering.” I started not beating around the bush. “Our friend Sara Gruba wants to spend some time in our cistern. From two weeks to a month actually.”
I looked over at Sara and she was looking around at the group, looking each individual in the eye, probably trying to decide if they were judging her.
Lucija was the first to speak, “Wow, you can take that much time off?”
I’m not sure what Sara was expecting, questions about why she wanted to do this? Disapproval? But a simple question about her vacation time that immediately jumped over all the kinky questions, that was unexpected. I could see her relax immediately. The group had no interest in judging her kink.
Before Sara could respond, Ana spoke, “My nurse NEVER takes time off. She has so much paid time off accrued that if she doesn’t start taking it, she’s going to lose several weeks at the end of the year.”
“What about Quinn”, Cradic asked, sticking up for the male, “is this what he wants to do with vacation time?”
“That’s one of the reasons we haven’t taken any of Sara’s time,” Quinn said quickly, “I primarily drive UBER. I don’t get vacation. If I’m not driving, I’m not making money. We’ve taken some trips from time to time but I’m just happy for Sara to pursue her fetish.”
“Hmmm,” I thought, this gives me an idea.
“OK, so the reason I wanted to discuss this is that it will affect the whole group in minor ways. We will either have to establish a second DiC position to watch and feed Sara OR make it a part of the current rotation’s duties.” I explained. “It may also have other impacts on the group, for example, no one else will be able to use the oubliette during this time.”
“What’s an Oblett?” Reese asked.
“It’s ‘oubliette’ from the French word for ‘to forget’. It was a deep, dark place in a dungeon where prisoners were thrown and just forgotten, left to die or go crazy. Our cistern over there approximates one. Sara, as I understand it, had a long fascination with oubliettes.”
Sara just shrugged.
“Does anyone have any questions for Sara?” I asked. “Because if not, Sara would you mind going into the house and close the door behind you, you can go visit with the slut in the basement if you like.”
“Yea,” Cradic said, “If you don’t mind, take a bottle of water with you, with a straw. There are vibrators in the metal cabinet if you want to have some fun, just, as usual, don’t let her cum and don’t release her just yet unless, you know, you think she’s in danger of injury.”
After Sara was out of earshot I continued, “I would suggest we just add watching Sara to the current DIC’s duties. It won’t take much. Mal has rigged up a combination heater and forced air ventilation system that needs to be checked perhaps twice a day. I have put an infrared camera in the top corner of the cistern that both Dr. Ana and I will be monitoring but it wouldn’t hurt to check that a few times a day. And we’re going to feed her very little and perhaps as infrequently as once a day. Usually just stale bread with a smear of peanut butter.”
“Heath,” Paula suggested, “why don’t you tell them the precautions you’ve taken.”
“Good idea,” I replied. “You know my policy towards Heather, ‘hurt but not harm.’ Sara is going to be down there for from two weeks to a month, the duration will be decided in real time between Quinn, Ana, and me. Sara won’t know when she will be released. She will be naked. She will be fed at random times. It’s totally, and I mean ‘can’t see your hand in front of your face’ totally dark down there. She will have no way to measure time. She will have no human interaction. I was concerned with both physical and mental harm. I asked Dr. Ana to do some research into long-term solitary confinement. We have discussed this research with Sara and Quinn. We all think Sara can handle a month but that’s why Ana will be watching the camera, to look for symptoms of mental or physical deterioration.”
“In conclusion,” I continued, “this is definitely both Risk Aware and Consensual Non-Consensual type play. And you all know the rules of the Chateau. Anybody that thinks this, or any other activity is out of control, can stop it at any time, now or during her confinement.”
I waited a while for any objections. “OK, let’s eat! Carl, would you help Paula get the lamb chops off the grill, I want to go get Sara.” I also wanted to see what kind of predicament Heather was in.
When I got to the basement, Sara was sitting in one of the metal folding chairs we kept outside the cell chatting about her day with the Slut. The Slut didn’t seem to be participating much in the conversation, I suspect because she was in too much discomfort.
Heather was lying on the floor of her cell, face down. Her hands were cuffed behind her back. Her legs were cuffed to each end of a 4 ft spreader bar. Someone had braided her hair and this was tied by a short rope to what I assumed was an Ass Hook pulling her head back and an extreme angle. This would have been bad enough, but two additions had been added to her predicament. One, that spreader bar was attached to the rail at the ceiling and pulled up so that the only part of the slut on the ground were her B cup tits. Second, those tits were resting on a couple of handfuls of very sharp gravel from our driveway.
“Did Sara remember to bring you some water, Slut?” I asked as I approached the cell.
“Yes sir," Heather said rather quietly. I expect she was trying not to move her chest any more than absolutely necessary and talking required breathing which required moving her chest.
“This is harsh!” Sara said, not in judgment but more in admiration.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if the Slut thought it up herself,” I pointed out.
“No sir,” Heather replied, “Cradic and Maggie came up with this.”
“Did I ask you a question slut?” I snapped while winking at Sara.
“Oh, sorry sir," Heather said so quietly I could barely hear it.
“That’s OK slut!” I said cheerfully, “gives me an excuse to cane your ass when I bring your dinner down later.”
“Yes sir!”
“So how many points did you negotiate for this fine mess?” I asked.
“25 sir, but I have to endure it till midnight,” she answered.
“Damn, I better make sure Cradic doesn’t have too many beers and fall asleep before he releases you.” I added as a mind fuck to let the slut ponder.
“Dinner’s ready Sara, time to come back upstairs.”
After an outstanding dinner I got the group's attention one more time, and this time I wanted Sara present.
“Sara, I own the Chateau, and I own the cistern. I have one more condition to the ones I discussed with you and Quinn yesterday.” Both Sara and Quinn looked at me expectantly.
“I think Quinn needs his own form of vacation, even though I know he will keep driving UBER. So, here’s my last condition. We will release you from the oubliette in no less than 2 weeks. But your maximum sentence will depend on Quinn having 30 orgasms with other women while you’re in the hole.”
Quinn looked surprised and Sara didn’t show any expression at all. The two of them had been at the orgy that followed our Labor Day picnic, but they hadn’t really played with others, spending their time fucking in the cistern.
I continued, “I say ‘other women’ meaning he can’t count masturbation. If others in the group don’t want to fuck, suck or give him hand jobs then he can always use the slut, although he’s a pretty hot guy so I doubt he will have any problems getting laid. You will only get food thrown in the cistern when he gets off. So, if you’re fed, you will know your husband is cuckolding you.”
Paula was looking at me like I was crazy, I expected her to say, “are you whoring me out,” or something but she and the rest of the group stayed silent. Quinn started to say something, but I held up my hand indicating he should be quiet.
“Do you accept?” I asked.
“Yes.” I saw Sara look at the husband and wink with the most seductive smile. “Have fun!” she said to him.
“OK. Mal, get the ladder, Cradic, you and Carl open the hatch on the cistern. Sara, strip!” I instructed.
Everyone but Ana looked surprised. Sara looked shocked. “Now?” She said, “but I have to file for time off.”
“Already handled,” Ana explained, “I have a traveling nurse starting tomorrow.”
“But, uh, well, uh,” Ana stuttered, trying to think of some reason but coming up with nothing. It’s not that she didn’t want to do this, it’s just the completely unexpected start.
Finally, the ‘now or never’ aspect of the situation washed over her, and she started untying her halter top.
Most of us jumped with Carl and Cradic let the steel hatch fall open with a LOUD clang, but I was watching Sara at that moment (who wouldn’t watch a woman take her top off?), and I swore her feet left the ground when steel hit steel. I had considered lowering Sara into the cistern by rope, but I ultimately decided to just let her climb down the ladder. Safety first!
Ana decided to give the now naked Sara a hug and this started a chain of all the women giving Sara a silent, almost solemn hug. I swear I couldn’t have scripted it better. It was like they were saying goodbye to the condemned. Then Quinn gave her a long passionate kiss which I had to break up,
“Time to go," I said in my best judicial voice. I took Sara by the arm and led her to the ladder that was now sticking out of the hole in the top of the cistern. I helped her mount the ladder, holding it steady as she climbed down, then Mal and I lifted it out.
“Try to shit and piss in the hole, you’ll regret it if you don’t! And there should be water running down that wall there, that’s the only water you’re going to get.” And with those simple instructions I signaled Carl and Cradic to close the hatch, which they intentionally allowed to slam down. It was loud above ground; it must have been deafening in the cistern.
“OK,” I instructed, “Carl, spread the blackout tarp over the hatch. Now let’s all follow Mal so he can show us how the ventilation and heating system works. If you’re the DIC you need to check to make sure it’s moving warm air at least twice a day.”
After Mal showed how to feel the pipe leading into the drain to make sure it was warm, and how to hold your hand over the air intake to make sure air was moving, I gathered the group back around the fire ring.
“OK, we aren’t going to feed the prisoner for the first 36 hours. After that we are going to feed her daily but at random times every day plus or minus six hours. There is a schedule I generated with a random number generator that will be posted in the kitchen under the DIC rotation. If you’re busy, away from the Chateau, etc. during feeding time, the DIC is still responsible for making sure someone feeds her.”
“I thought you said,” Maggie interrupted, sounding disappointed, “that she only got fed when Quinn came?”
“Maggie,” I laughed, “can you say, ‘mind fuck’.”
“Oh. Ok," Maggie said laughing nervously.
I continued, “Paula has already added a loaf of day-old French bread to our weekly bakery order and we’re going to leave that out in the kitchen, so it gets nice and hard and stale. Cut about 2 inches off the loaf, make a hole in the middle with your fingers and stuff it with about ½ cup of Nutella.
If you are responsible for throwing her bread into the cistern, keep the tarp over the hatch to block light, raise the hatch just enough to fling the bread in and lower the hatch. Try to throw it towards the right side so it doesn’t go into the sewer hole.”
“How is she going to find it in the dark?” Carl asked.
“After a day and a half without food,” Paula pointed out, “she’ll find it.”
“There is an infrared night camera in the top of the cistern,” I explained, “Using an app, Quinn, Dr. Ana, and myself can monitor Sara. But any of you, especially the DIC, can drop by my office, the video feed will be on the computer screen along with the feed from the Slut’s basement cell. We are going for a full month down there, but Ana or Quinn can stop this at any time. So, if you notice something that troubles you, text Ana or me. But don’t be surprised, in a few days, if she starts begging or pleading when she realizes you’re feeding her. Remember, she consented to a non-consensual experience.”
And so, it began.
The first 24 hours were fairly uneventful except that there was a steady stream of people coming through my office, fascinated with watching Sara. Why I’m not sure, she mostly just sat with her back against a wall, knees pulled up to her chest, hugging her legs. At least that’s the position she assumed when she wasn’t masturbating. She spent a lot of time that first day with her legs spread, rubbing her clit. It was hard to see details with the high frequency IR picture, but you could see periods of slow stroking and other periods of frantic, rapid rubbing. And you could certainly hear when she came.
She would occasionally feel her way around the wall to find where the water was slowly trickling down the rough stone wall, find a place where she could trap water with her tongue and lap water off the wall. I didn’t see her take a piss that whole first day, but she may have while I was asleep. The masturbation steadily decreased in frequency during the first two days until I estimated it settled into a routine rate of about once a day.
I couldn’t understand why there was such a fascination with watching her do nothing for hours but there continued to be a steady stream of voyeurs in my office. Truth be told, I kept checking the monitor as well, looking for some activity. Perhaps it was just watching a naked woman with nothing to do but masturbate, sleep, eat and lick water off the wall.
By the second day, Sara tried to set up a routine. She tried walking around the walls, one hand on the wall to guide her. She walked round and round. She may have been trying to set a regular schedule but with no day/night, no clock, no sounds, it was almost comical how her rhythm was off. As the days went on, she didn’t seem to sleep for 8 hours once a day but fell asleep for completely random amounts of time and stayed awake for random amounts of time. Since her internal clock had no hope of keeping any sense of time, she also had no hope of setting a regular exercise schedule. After about a week she stopped any attempts at exercise except standing up and stretching occasionally.
Feeding times became weirdly entertaining and those around the house during feeding times paid attention to the schedule to make sure they were watching the monitor. The hinges of the steel hatch made a creaking sound and that sound never failed to wake Sara if she was sleeping or bring her to full alertness if she was simply sitting. She had to pay attention to where the bread landed. It didn’t make a loud sound and I’m sure it echoed in the cistern, making it hard to locate exactly. As the days went on, I assume hunger grew because her search for the bread was nearly always frantic. And the longer it took her to find it, the more frantic her search became.
I just couldn’t resist another mind fuck. One evening, a few hours before the scheduled feeding, I went to the cistern. Being careful to keep the tarp over the hatch, I raised the hatch a few inches, making sure the hinges creaked, then lowered the hatch again. Rushing back to my office I joined most of the residents to watch Sara spend a frantic hour searching every square inch of the floor again and again. She even stuck her hand down the drain in the floor through which the warm air was pumped into the cistern. That was also the pipe she used for her toilet. She only stopped after she found the real piece of bread that Maggie, who was the DIC for the day, threw into the cistern later.
Quinn was enjoying his vacation. Although invited, he never came by for dinner, but he did frequently come by in the evening and spend an hour with the slut. OK, I admit it, I watched to see what he was doing with her, just checking on Heather of course. The first two times he came by he ordered Heather to coach him while he ate her out. Of course, he couldn’t get her off, but it seemed like he was really trying to refine his technique following her coaching. Heather, on the other hand, seemed uncomfortable. I knew she wasn’t uncomfortable having oral sex, she was uncomfortable not being submissive. Finally, the third time Quinn came over he asked the slut to blow him.
I managed to just happen to be in the hall as he came back upstairs after that session.
“Have fun?” I asked conversationally. Quinn must have noticed the cameras in the cell, they were pretty obvious, so I continued, “Next time you have her blow you, why don’t you take a piece of stale bread down and have her spit your load on the bread. I’m betting Sara can tell your cum by smell.”
Quinn looked slightly embarrassed, but said “Yea, good idea.”
“Oh, and you know, no matter how good you get, that slut is never going to cum by oral, she just HAS to have something in her,” I pointed out. “But Paula loves to get oral, want me to ask her for you?”
“Um, oh, no, I’ll talk to her sometime.” Quinn stammered. “You, uh, wouldn’t mind?”
“Quinn, seriously?” I said smiling. “You haven’t figured out this group yet? Sara gave you permission, and the women here will just simply tell you no if they don’t want to. No judgment, it’s just their choice. And no, none of the guys are possessive. And this DOES NOT mean we expect you to share Sara later. Each individual and each opportunity is a separate choice with no expectations or obligations. Understand?”
“Yea, sure,” Quinn said in halting English.
I really didn’t expect Quinn to ever talk to Paula or any of the other women. Turns out he would surprise me.
After three days in the cistern, Sara started singing. She had a repertoire of about 20 songs. She knew all the words to about three of them, the first verse of a few more and scattered words on most of the rest. When she got tired of singing, she started talking in Croatian. Ana later told me Sara was reciting lists of bones in the body, sections of the brain, organs of the body, various medical regulations, and other procedures that she probably had to memorize in Nursing School.
The next time Quinn visited the slut he took my idea about spitting his cum on bread. And most of the group, including Quinn, was gathered around the monitor when Reese threw that piece of bread into the cistern. She had been careful to insert the glob of Nutella on the other side of the bread from the sperm. I figured that it probably smelled so bad in the cistern by now that I wasn’t sure Sara could smell anything at all.
Quinn was watching the monitor in my office as Sara frantically searched for the bread, snatched it up and took a bite immediately. But she must have noticed that the non-Nutella side was damp and sticky where it was usually dried and hard. She paused for a second, then she licked that side of the bread. Then she licked it again. Then she sat down, spread her legs, and started masturbating with one hand while holding the bread to her face with the other. When she came, she arched her back and raised her ass off the floor making a growling sound. Only when she had relished her orgasm for a minute did she finish eating her bread.’
It was the ONLY time she didn’t devour her bread in about four quick bites. Quinn was so emotional he had to excuse himself.
It took eight days before Sara started begging. She only begged when she thought someone was feeding her as she had no idea there was a camera and microphone in the cistern. As soon as she heard the hinges she would start to shout.
“I want out!” She yelled. “I don’t want to do this anymore.” “I’m going crazy in here.” “Help me please!” “I want to talk to Quinn, please!”
After six days of yelling each day without an answer, she finally stopped. She may have realized that it took her much longer to locate her bread when she was shouting instead of listening to where the bread landed.
Quinn surprised me one evening when, noticing Paula alone in the kitchen washing dishes, he decided to help her. I passed by the door and noticed them talking but was still pleasantly surprised when Paula loudly announced as she came out of the kitchen, “Quinn and I are going up to the bedroom, he wants to practice his oral skills. Maggie, Reese, Lucija, if you want to join us it would be good if he could practice on a variety of clits.”
Quinn, who I’m sure was expecting to just perform on Paula, had a shocked expression on his face.
“Coming!” Maggie yelled from the living room, “pun intended!”
“Me too.” I heard Reese.
“Sounds fun, but I gotta head back to the dorm," Lucija said, and I noticed Quinn relax a bit.
“If you ladies happen to cause a white sticky liquid to spurt out of Quinn here, be sure to save some of it to put on Sara’s bread tomorrow.” I suggested. “She really seemed to enjoy that treat last time.”
Reese later told me that she and Reese had two orgasms each and Maggie had one (she had been well fucked a few hours earlier). Quinn was exhausted and could barely make his mouth work to say goodbye when he staggered home after midnight. He did create a spread for Sara’s bread before leaving. Paula laughed when she said, “with Maggie’s mouth on his dick, Reese playing with his ass and me sucking on his balls he didn’t last long.”
Ana came by my office every few days after she closed the clinic, and we would discuss Sara’s condition. She was so completely filthy now that it was hard for Ana to spot any skin problems. We decided to increase the amount of Nutella each day. Ana wasn’t the least surprised when, after three weeks, Sara started to pace. This wasn’t an attempt at exercise, it was the kind of pacing wild animals do when locked in a cage.
While Sara was in the cistern, life went on above ground. We held three Friday demerit trials for the slut, Carl, Lucija, and I designed a bullet vibrator that can be paired with a subs cell phone so it can be controlled by the dom, anywhere in the world. The remote-control idea isn’t new, but our product can tell when it’s no longer in a vaginal canal and can notify the dom that it’s been removed. Lucija insisted on testing the prototype. She agreed to take 20 with the strap across her ass if she removed it in the next 24 hours. Carl kept the remote as Lucija had a sleepless night, class the next morning and went by our warehouse to check stock in the afternoon. By the time she came back to the Chateau for dinner she was a mess and ready to kill Carl. Apparently he had managed to keep her on edge for the last 24 hours, except when he gave her one earth shattering orgasm... in her Finance class. The new vibrator was promptly sent off for manufacturing.
The slut went on multiple slut walks on her outside cable in the weeks Sara was in the cistern. Every time we took the slut to the backyard, she would look at the cistern and the tarp covering it. When given permission to speak she would always ask how Sara was doing in there.
At 24 days, Ana called Quinn and they both showed up around dinner time.
“She’s done.” Ana declared. “Her physical health is still tolerable, but I’m worried about her mental health if we go any longer.”
We discussed how to handle taking her out. There was a real possibility that she might not have the strength or the will to climb the ladder. And once she was out, what then? A round of applause? A quiet bath?
“We need to get her out tonight while it’s dark,” Dr. Ana said, “so we can introduce her eyes to light slowly. She will be weak and disoriented. She will want food, but we have to start her off on soup, then stews, before hard food and minimize the animal fats or her stomach will rebel. She will need a bath and that’s your opportunity to provide lots of cuddling and aftercare Quinn.”
“I’ve got canned soup and stew.” Paula announced.
“Good,” Ana continued. “After a bath I’ll give her a quick exam then we’ll see what she wants to do. She may want to go home, she may want to crash, she may even want to talk and talk and talk. We take our cues from her.”
We pulled the tarp off and opened the steel hatch carefully, so as not to create too much noise. For a minute there was no sound from below then suddenly we heard quiet sobbing. The ladder was lowered into the hatch and Quinn descended quickly. There were a few minutes when we couldn’t see anything, but we could hear Quinn, in a quiet voice, talking in Croatian. Lucija later said he just kept saying “It’s over baby, you did good, it’s over.”
Quinn came up behind Sara to make sure she didn’t slip. When her head broke the surface, she was squinting even though the only light was from the kitchen window 40 ft. away. The group surrounding the cistern broke out in quiet and spontaneous applause after all. Nobody really wanted to hug her, she was filthy, and she smelled. But one look at the front of Quinn’s shirt revealed that he hadn’t cared. Quinn climbed the rest of the way out and, taking Sara by the arm, led her into the kitchen, going slowly to let her adjust to the light and to walking that far.
In the kitchen she headed straight for the refrigerator, prompting Paula, who was following close behind, to ask “Sara, what do you want?”
“A hamburger!” Sara declared loudly. “Without the fucking bun!” Which prompted a general round of laughter from the group coming into the kitchen.
“Well, that sounds nice,” Paula said, “but Dr. Ana says you would probably throw it up. How about some nice soup.”
Sara took a minute to process that, the desperately hungry prisoner who had been dreaming about a hot, juicy hamburger for weeks was mentally fighting with the medical professional who knew soup was the right choice.
Although Sara didn’t seem to be aware of her nudity, Maggie threw a blanket around her shoulders and Quinn guided her to a chair.
“I’ll have to sanitize that chair later,” Paula thought.
Everyone stood around in fascinated silence as Sara practically inhaled the ½ bowl of soup she was offered along with a cup of hot tea.
“Is everyone going to watch me take a bath too?” Sara said as she finished the soup and looked around the room? But for the first time since coming out of the cistern, she was smiling.
The group, realizing they were staring in awe, nervously broke up and wandered out, offering congratulations and various supportive statements as they went.
Sara had a bath in the large tub upstairs. Quinn had to practically carry her up the stairs to the master bath. Then she had another bowl of soup but refused any bread to go with it. Then Quinn took her home.
For the rest of her life, Sara very rarely ate bread.