I was kneeing on the floor, naked — while I listened to my Master move around the room. As usual, he moved unhurriedly, with no sense of urgency as I waited for him to acknowledge my presence. This seemed to have become a sort of protocol — so imagine my surprise when I felt the stroke of his hand against my cheek — instead of the weight of his dick against my tongue.
My eyes were closed when he entered the room, not at his request, and not because I felt that it gave more of an impression of depression — but because I found this particular act a bit humiliating and always seemed to instinctively close my eyes against the feelings of shame. Master’s unexpected touch started me so much that I pulled away, extremely closing my mouth and opening my eyes. I corrected quickly, leaning towards him again and opening my mouth. With some difficulty, I kept my eyes open and looked up at him.
Wearing a slightly bemused expression, he just looked at me, then extended hishand, as though to help me rise and said, “We’re going to try something a bit different today.”
Well this is intriguing, I thought to myself, rising and following him as he led me out of the room. I tamped down my anxiety as I saw that he’d quickly stepped into the bathroom and switched on the overhead lights.
“Kneel, my pet.” He murmured huskily, and I quickly acquired.
He quickly continued.
“It’s been a while since I’ve allowed you to drink my piss. For reasons that we’ve discussed and for the most part, agree with. But I’m sure you will also agree that it’s not reasonable for me to deny myself something you can and should easily submit to.” Master paused and looked at me, thoughtfully, before continuing, “For that reason alone — please know, that I CAN piss down your throat today or any other day.”
I tried, unsuccessfully, to suppress a nervous swallow and Master chuckled.
“Ah… my anxious little slut is already anticipating swallowing my piss.” Master didn’t joke around a lot and unfortunately, I didn’t find this situation humorous at all. But apparently, he wasn’t done speaking yet. He plowed on.
“I don’t owe you any explanations — any more than I’d explain to a pen or pencil, why I’m using it in a particular way, because YOU — are an object and a possession of mine to be used in any way I see fit,” Master paused at this point and I felt him direct his steely gaze down at me, then continued, “Don’t you agree?”
“Yes, Master,” I mumbled. I was in complete misery. I was kneeing on this cold, unforgiving tile floor. And the temperature in the bathroom was icy. Master had subjected me to water sports before, but it had been years ago. And while I enjoyed watching it in movies. And I enjoyed the times I’d submitted to it with him, I wasn’t crazy about the overwhelming sense of shame and self-deprecation that followed for days afterwards.
But the biggest barrier at this point was each prior time Master had pwassed in mouth, he’d beaten, whipped or fucked me beforehand.
In previous sessions, Master had started by subjecting me to all manner of impact play and debauchery at the session’s onset, so much so that by the time he introduced piss, I’d been a trembling, shivering mass of wanton, willingness. I absolutely could not imagine opening my mouth and guzzling Master’s urine while I was in this highly UNaroused, esoteric mind state.
But… I didn’t know how to tell Master ‘No.’ I didn’t WANT to tell Master, ‘No.’ I tried to think back to the last time I’d refused to obey Master.
And I couldn’t.
Had I ever told him ‘No?’
He’d stood there silently, the entire time I continued to knee there, dealing with this insane, internal dialogue flitting around inside my head — but I knew that I couldn’t just genuflect, indefinitely, hoping he’d change his mind.
“Master,” I started, “I don’t think…”
I stopped, almost choking on the words.
“Master,” I tried again, “I don’t think I can.”
And as I uttered the last syllable, I looked up at him — into his dark and handsome face. I looked at him because I wanted him to see my earnestness and understand the complete misery I felt, at not being able to comply.
Master looked at me and aside from a slight, fleeting tightening around his mouth — it was as though I hadn’t spoken.
He extended His hand again, and I grasped at it as though I’d been thrown a life-line.
He turned and exited the bathroom and I followed. At the bedroom door, he paused and stepped aside, allowing me to enter first. I walked forward a few steps, then began to position myself to knee, but Master stopped me.
“No,” he wrapped his hand around my forearm and guided me back up, “Get on the bed.”
Well this was completely unexpected and I’m sure my face registered surprise and confusion, but Master made no attempt to explain.
I crawled on to the bed and positioned myself on all fours.
“No,” Master said again. His tone was quiet and detached. “Lie on your back.”
I lowered myself to the bed and turned over so that I was lying on my back as he’d ordered. I heard the crackling of a condom wrapper and without thinking about it, I’d raised up on both elbows in disbelief. Master was going to fuck me now?!
Without allowing me to worship his cock or indulging in any impact play? This was unheard of.
I watched him walk over to me. He got in the bed next to me, rubbing my breasts briefly before positioning himself on top of me. My pussy was wet because I’d masturbated beforehand (another part of the protocol), so he had no trouble entering me. He started to fuck me with steady, measured strokes. I was in such shock that I was nearly immobilized. At some point, I realized that I was just lying there — so I reached up to touch Master’s nipples. He immediately brushed my hands away, not angrily, in fact, his face and actions were completely without emotion, it appeared to be more of a stoic response.
Slowly, tears started to leak from my eyes. I didn’t know exactly why I was crying.
Was it because I felt bad for disappointing Master?
I opened my eyes and looked at Master. He said nothing.
But he stopped fucking me.
Then he deliberately moved his arm towards me, fisting his left hand in my hair. Then he used his right hand to slap me across the face. I felt my cheek redden. He slapped me again, harder. He was still inside me and I felt my pussy muscles tighten. Master felt it as well. He lowered himself back down, pressing his length further inside me and tightening his grip on my hair.
I felt his mouth against my ear, but it was moment before he spoke.
“Do you know why you’re crying?” He paused, “Or are you too stupid? Or is that you’re in complete denial?”
I had no idea what to say, and I wasn’t sure if these were rhetorical questions, so I said nothing.
Master pushed himself backup and slapped me across the face again.
“No Master, I don’t know why I’m crying,” I blubbered, “I think it’s because I feel bad about disappointing you.”
Master let go of my hair and pushed away from me. I looked at his dick — the condom shiny with evidence of my arousal, but quickly ducked my head.
“Get your collar and your lean.” Master ordered quietly.
I quickly moved towards the closet and got the instruments he’d requested.
It had been a long time since he collared or restricted me in any way, but his movements were quick and precise. Once the collar was secure, he rolled his wrist, shortening the leash and tugged me towards him. I was on my knees, but with my torso upright, instead of completely prostrate. As per usual, my eyes were closed.
“Look at me.” He ordered. His tone was calm and quiet, but there was no mistaken the fact that this was an order. I looked up at him.
Master spit in my face. My hand twitched, but I was able to resis the urge to wipe the spittle away. I was, however, not unable to hide the cringe of disgust I felt.
Master spit on me again. My hand didn’t budget this time, but still I felt the tell-tale cringe.
Once again, Master spit in my face. How the hell was he producing this much saliva?
I wondered, albeit briefly, because this last onslaught was followed up by a slap that almost toppled me over.
“Present your breasts to me.” Master ordered.
My breasts were already exposed, but I knew what this means. I lifted my breasts and squeezed them, leaning my body towards him. He slapped one breast, then the other and kept this up until I involuntarily leaned away from him. He used the lean to pull me back towards me and increased his efforts.
Once he saw my breasts start to redden, he jerked the lean downwards, forcing me on all fours. He took the belt from the door and started to whip me mercilessly.
Every time I tried to pull away from him or maneuver myself away from the belt, he used the lean to drag me back into position.
I was screaming and sobbing to such a degree that it took me a moment, to realize that Master was speaking to me.
“I asked you question before and you answered incorrectly.” He raised his voice to make sure I heard him, but he didn’t yell. “Are you ready to try again?”
I lay there on the floor, trying to catch my breath and organize my thoughts.
“I’ll help you, my pet.” Master witnessed, “Because you’re a dumb slut and I’m a general Master.”
“Thank you, Master,” was my sad attempt at contributing to this exchange. I moved from my prone position and kneeeled but kept my torso upright.
“I asked you if you knew why you were crying.” Master paused, but it was clear that This was for affect and that I was not expected to answer. “You gave me some pat answer about disappointing me.”
He dropped the leash and continued.
“And while I don’t doubt that you felt badly about disappointing me. That’s not what drive your tears.” He stepped in front of me and shoved his dick in my mouth. I gobbled it greedily, or attempted to. Much more quickly than I would have liked, Master pulled his dick from my exuberant suckling and continued speaking.
“When I treated you like some random, vanilla bitch,” he paused, “you felt frustrated. But those weren’t just tears of frustration or disappointment.” He moved away from as he said the last.
“Open your eyes.” Master said quietly.
I blinked my eyes open.
“I want your eyes open, slut — because I want you to take in exactly what I’m saying.”
He paused again, but only briefly.
“But I also want your eyes open right now because I know having your eyes open adds to your shame and humiliation. And it’s that very shame that caused you to cry. You’re ashamed that you crave every nasty, vile, disgusting thing I do to you. Your mind and body react to it the same way a ‘normal’ slut reacts to gentle strokes and kisses. You’re embarrassed and ashamed because everything I’m saying is true and you don’t like it. After all these years, you still reject your feelings and desires and your tears are a normal, physical response to your shame.”
I closed my eyes against the truth of what he was saying.
“Open your eyes, my pet.” He ordered and I did so.
“So let me be clear.” Master paused for dramatic effect.
“I don’t care if you cry. In fact, dependent on my mood, it adds to my pleasure. But what I won’t do is allow your unwillingness to accept the fact that you are mine and you enjoy being mine and ALL THAT IT ENTAILS… I won’t let that infantile, Puritan pathology interfere with my wants and desires.”
Master paused, turning his back to me, “I do not EVER owe you an explanation, but today I will make a slight exception.”
Master kept his back turned and I have to admit that I used this time to covertly admire his broad shoulders, chiseled wait and thick, muscled thighs and calves.
He began again, “Typically, if I’m going to allow you to drink my piss, or piss on you — I wait until after I’ve whipped you or fucked you. Then I allow you to go clean up because even though it’s my piss, I’d rather you not be covered in piss while you serve me. It’s a personal preference and I’m not going to inconvenience myself by waiting for you to shower in the MIDDLE of a session.” Master witnessed, “But lately, because we’ve been pressed for time — today — I decided to piss in your mouth first — because I understand you better than you understand yourself. I believe… No, I KNOW that pissing in your mouth first will set a mood and get you in the proper headspace right away, so that we can I move things along at the pace that I desire.”
Master stopped speaking abruptly and felt him turn towards me.
“Are you mine, b?” Without realizing it, I’d closed my eyes again and Master’s use of my Christian name, started me enough to make myeyes snap open in surprise.
Master repeated himself, “Are you mine, b?”
“Yes, Master.” I replied. I whispered it and now I understand how the heroes in those bodice-ripper romance novels felt, because I was quite literally nearly breathless with feeling.
Master took another step closer to me, “Do you truly belong to me, b?”
“Yes, Master.” I responded in a firm, clear voice.
“Do you trust in me — and recognize the fact that I know what’s best for you?” He paused briefly, then continued, “and what’s best for us…”
“Yes, Master.” I answered dutifully, now feeling complete shade and stupidity that I’d balanced at submitting to his earlier request. I really didn’t deserve such a kind and thoughtful Master.
“Then tell me what you want me to do to you.” Master took another step forward, “I want you to completely debase yourself and beg me for the privilege of it. And I want you to look at me while you do so.”
“Please, Master,” I started, unsure of exactly what to say, “I want you to whip this slut’s ass and breasts.”
“Ah, you can do better than that,” Master Shook his head, chatising me but without heat, “You’re asking me to do things that you enjoy. Don’t be impudent. Tell me what else you deserve.”
“Master, I think you should spit on me and call me names.” I tried again, but this time I shuffled forward, still on my knees, and pressed my breasts and pussy against his legs. He said nothing, so I tried harder.
“Better,” he responded, “but no one asked you what you think.” I felt like I was making progress, but I obviously wasn’t there yet.
“Master, will you bind and restrain me in any way you see fit?” I moaned and bent down to kiss his feet.
Still seemed unmoved, I pressed kisses over every inch of Master’s flesh that was available to me from this position. Then, I started to move by body against him, grinding and gyrating. I felt like a bitch a heat, and when I thought about, wasn’t thatWhat I truly was? I was Master’s bitch — and right now, I craved his touch and wanted him to take me like an animal. Finally, I realized what I hadn’t said. What I hadn’t done. I pulled away from him and tried my best to squelch all feelings of embarrassment.
“Master,” I tried my best to make eye contact, but I cheated a bit. I looked at a spot on the wall just over his shoulder. “will you piss in mouth and allow me to drink it?”
“Ah, my delicious slut,” Master finally showed some small semblance of being pleased and heart soared. He continued, “You’re close — but I told you I wanted you to beg for the privilege.”
Before I could respond, Master jerked my head back and slapped me across my face.
Master spit in my face, then grabbed my hair, pulling me forward, shoving my face against his groin. I felt his public hair scratching my cheeks, then the sensitive flesh of my eyes, but I didn’t care. I pressed my face even harder against his pelvis, opened my mouthand tried to maneuver my mouth on to his long, proved member.
Master still had his firm, unrelenting grip on my hair. He used it to yank me backwards.
“Open your mouth wider, slut.” He commanded.
I obeyed and he spit in mouth.
He jammed his dick in my mouth — or Master’s fuckhole as he sometimes referred to it — and I feel my it fill with saliva, while I feel My pussy extremely gush and leak juices down my thighs. Master fucked my throat for several minutes, and I did my best to relax my throat and let his thick, beautiful cock slide past my epiglottis and into my actual throat. I knew Master loved this and while it was painful, I thought about what he said and focused on the pleasure I experienced knowing that he was able to use my mouth and throat the same way he could only use another slut’s pussy or ass. I felt pride that I could accommodate him this way, instead of my usual feeling of shame.
When Master stopped and pulled his dick from my throat, I tried to follow him. My mouth open and still hungry for more, feeling bereft with his cock no longer occupying the space.
“Tell me again,” Master bent closer to me and whispered in my face. “Do you deserve to be my urinal? Do you deserve all my fluids?”
“Yes, Master,” I cried. I was beside myself at this point — pressing my thighs together to alleviate my throbbing clip and trying to position myself so that I could suck
Master’s dick again.
Master released his hold on my hair and bent to retrieve the leash.
Once he picked up the leash, it seemed impossible, but I felt myself get even more turned on. It was as though were supernaturally joined by this chain.
“Please Master,” I begged, “Please piss in my mouth. Please allow me the pleasure and privilege of serving as your toilet slut, your urinal.”
“Why should I bless you with this golden nectar, you silly slut?” Master asked silkily.
“Master, I know I don’t deserve your piss — but if you would take goal on this slut — I promise I will do my best to someday make myself worthy of being your cumchaser and piss pig.” I pulled myself together and prostrated myself on the floor. The feeling of the carpet against my knees and abrading my stiff, aching nipples filled me with both indescribable pleasure and extreme feelings of contentment. I turned my head to the side and began to recite my slut’s mantra:
1. This slut will moan with hunger when she sucks her Daddi’s dick.
2. This slut will make sure her Daddi’s dick stays wet in her mouth.
3. This slut will NOT wipe off any saliva that forms on her face or body while sucking her Daddi’s dick.
4. This slut will play with HIS nipples or HIS balls while sucking HIS dick.
6. This slut will be HIS urinal and swallow his cum.
7. This mouth is always a resting place for HIS dick.
When I was done reciting my rules, I didn’t move. I stayed in position, as still as a status. After what felt like hours, but was really only a few seconds, I felt Master walk towards me. He straddled my torso and bent to thread his fingers through my hair. In one swift move, he tugged me towards me and spit in my face, then shoved me back towards the floor. He retrieved his belt and began methodically whipping my ass, thighs and occasionally even my back.
Intermittently, he would order me to Turn over on my back and from this position, he’d use his hands to slap and spank my breasts, tug at my nipples or even spank my clip and the fronts of both thighs. By this time, nearly my entire body and certainly all of my erogenous zones were literally burning with heat — as well as need. Every time I’d start to feel that blessed sense of numbness in one area, Master would find another place on my body to whip or torture. I’d been screaming and crying for such an extended period, I felt myself growing hoarse. I begged and pleaded for Master to allow me a minute, but my pleasures fell on deaf ears.
Then, quite suddenly, at a point when I felt like I truly couldn’t take anymore, the blows stopped, and I felt a slight tug my leash.
“Stand up, bitch.” Master said.
I struggled to stand, but made it into an upright position without Master’s assistant.
“You have pleased me, slut.” Master said. After a brief pause, “Go in the bathroom and ready yourself for urinal service.”
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