Amanda's Toilet 4

Last weekend Amanda went away. She left on Thursday morning for a two-day conference, but thought that she might go to visit her brother afterwards, as it was nearby, and come back Sunday evening, leaving me, at least from five o'clock on Friday, unoccupied. She told me that she didn't mind what I did, of course, but that if I wanted to she would find somewhere for me to go for the weekend, to be leant, as it were, in my domestic capacity, to a third party.

I agreed, eagerly, having been not at all excited for a weekend on my own, and she said 'good. I'll sort it,' and that was that.

She told me on Thursday morning, before she left, that she had found someone. I was relieved, thinking that she might have failed, or forgotten. She told me that they weren't strangers, as she was acquainted with them (though she didn't tell me how), but that I hadn't met them before. They were university students, two girls, living in a two-bedroom flat. She gave me the address and told me that they were expecting me at six Friday evening, and that they had my number.

'Though they are borrowing you under the proviso that you are primarily a toilet, they also know that in the past few weeks we have gone a little further than that.'

I nodded.

'They have read your blog': she's started calling it this, I think because it emphasizes how real it is, and thus how humiliating.

'They will push you, but you are always free to say no. Is that understood?'

'Yes, miss.'

'No. Use my real name.' She put her hand softly on my cheek. This wasn't a game. She wanted to know I was safe.

'Yes, Amanda. I am always free to say no.'

'Great. You looking forward to it?'

'Yes.'

She was leaving by this point, suitcase in hand by the ajar door. Not quite taxi blowing his horn, but otherwise the whole shebang. We kissed passionately, and then she ordered me to pull my trousers and panties down to my knees. I did, and she grabbed my cunt with her hand.

'Remember. This is still mine! Always mine.'

'Yes, mistress,' I said, sure that she could feel how wet I was already getting.

She walked off, leaving the door wide open with me standing there, still exposed.

I redressed, grabbed my beg and went to work.

The following 34 hours dragged inexorably on. I shan't bore you with the details. For you, my lucky audience, the events on Friday evening can be moments away from Thursday morning, when in reality, for me, they felt epochs apart.

I arrived at the end of the road at ten to six, and walked down it looking out for the number. Being early I continued straight past, the house cased as though for a burglary, and circled round the block, arriving back again at two minutes to, which seemed an obediently early time for me to ring the doorbell.

Two girls answered the door: one long-haired brunet, almost flat-chested, in a black miniskirt and a red sports bra; the other, a short-haired ginger with a pair of enormous breasts bursting out of her crop top and flared jeans -- remarkably. These were just the sort of people I imagined Amanda would be friends with, and it was just like Amanda to not mention their existence until it seemed relevant.

'Hi, Amanda's toilet, right?' said the brunet, putting her hand out.

'Eeerrrm, yeah.' I said, shaking it. I hadn't brought anything with me, which may have been an oversight, though I wasn't there for a long time after all. Soon I was whisked inside and into the living, which was typical for a student flat: lots of bags around, the odd textbook, playing cards, mismatched furniture, countless empty spirit bottles, etc. etc. There was a dildo on one of the worktops, which I noticed almost immediately, and must have been staring at when the ginger girl said: 'You filthy pervert. Won't be needing that for a couple of days at least.'

'Too right,' the brunet barked back to her.

The girls sat down, or rather laid down, one on each sofa, and left me for a moment or two standing by the door, frozen.

'I think she should take off her clothes,' said the ginger, quickly acquiesced. I had been in the house for barely five minutes and was already undressing, folding my jacket, shirt and trousers and placing them neatly on the table, before removing my bra and then finally my panties.

I was ordered to kneel by the brunet and open my mouth. She spat in it, and after swallowing I instinctively thanked her. The girls laughed at me, though both seemed impressed, if that is the word, at my obedience.

'Now we understand that whilst you are primarily a toilet you are happy to oblige us in a little more that our bodily functions for your short stay here.'

'Yes, mistress.' I answered, which was again received by laughter.

I was told to go and get the dildo that I had noticed earlier, and once back on my knees I was ordered to suck it. It was dry, though smelt awful, and I assumed it had been in at least one of at least one of the girls's holes, though I wondered if it had been in all four. After a few minutes of watching me suck off the top four inches the girls shouted at me, told me that I was boring, and that I'd have to work harder than that. I took the whole thing into my mouth, tilting back my head to allow the end into my throat, and finding that the taste did indeed go all the way to the base. I continued to deep throat for about a minute, until I was properly out of breath, and then I took it out completely to breath.

The redhead spanked my arse hard, and laughed. 'That'll do pig. That'll do. Give us the dildo.'

'Saves washing it hey?' the brunet said, as the redhead dried it on my hair. It felt far more humiliating than anything I'd done for Amanda, even taking her shit into my mouth, I think because these weren't women, they were girls, and they weren't dominating me, they were playing with me. For a second I thought about leaving, sitting out the weekend alone and then getting Amanda, my true mistress, to rough me up and order me about after she came back. But I'd come all that way, and so I thought I'd give them more of a chance. They were pretty, well -- the brunet was -- the ginger was more sexy than pretty. Girls they might have been, but they'd clearly fucked around a bit -- the college life and all that. So, I stayed, and thank god I did, because it didn't take long for me to start enjoying myself.

Once the dildo was dried, and my hair very sticky, a combination of my own from the toy, and a couple of gobs from the girls too, I was ordered to take the dildo upstairs and leave it in the bathroom, picking up a pair of red panties that I was told I would find in the sink.

I climbed the stairs rather angrily: a toilet I might be (in fact I am), and a sex slave I might be tempted to be (in fact I desperately want to be), but a servant I am not, and would never be. But when I got into the bathroom I realised what they were doing: and began to feel a bit more excited. I noticed immediately a windowsill absolutely full of sextoys, and a few more spilling out onto the toilet top and the edges of the sink, and carefully managed to squeeze the dildo into the mix without nocking anything over, and then I noticed the smell and looked down to see the toilet see covered in piss, and the toilet unflushed. In the sink I found the pair of panties, soiled, as I'm sure you have already guessed.

I returned to the living room a little more excited for the evening ahead, kneeling somewhat eagerly in the spot I had been previously.

'Smell the panties.'

I did, pressing them against my nose, which then felt very damp.

'What do you smell?'

'Eerrrmmm, well, piss, I think, and cum -- not just a woman's either, a man's too.'

'Good girl,' said the brunet, twisting my nipple slightly as a reward, I think -- I felt proud, weirdly -- what a fucking slut!

'That's Barry, you might meet him tomorrow. Do you like men?'

'Yes, mistress.'

'Do you like cocks?'

'Yes, mistress.'

'Good. Because Barry likes to have his cock cleaned between rounds, and we're sick and tired of having to taste the other one's ... you know. You'll prove useful there.'

'Not to mention cleaning us up as well,' the other added.

The panties were then, predictably, shoved into my mouth, and one of my shoelaces taken out of my shoe and used to hold them in.

'Does that taste good?'

I nodded

'Now are you going to be our slave?'

I nodded.

The brunet shoved two of her fingers into her mouth and glowered at me as she sucked them. She then presented them to me, holding her hand out, around a foot off the floor, with the fingers pointed upwards. 'Your arse, here!' she shouted.

I turned my back to her, thus facing her smiling redhead accomplice, though with my face cast downward with embarrassment, and walked (though still on my knees) back and onto her fingers. I initially rested my hole on the tip of her middle finger, bracing myself for the feeling of her stoving them inside of me, but no. 'Down, now!' she shouted. I was to do all the work, with her merely providing the pressure (statically) to allow them to enter me and not be pushed downwards. As the middle finger entered me I felt the top of index finger resting on my now slightly open hole, though knew not to stop, and pushed on, lowering myself onto her hand, with the redhead staring at my cunt with the hand disappearing up behind it.

I had, thankfully, been distracted from the taste in my mouth, until I found myself moaning a little into the sodden panties making both of the girls laugh.

Once she was all the way in, or rather I was all the way down onto her, the brunet told me to start riding them, so I did. I was starting to get really turned on, but also properly embarrassed by the whole thing. I felt a little flushed, and must have been showing my embarrassment, because the redhead shouted, 'oh look, how cute, she's blushing.'

'Is she? I can't see,' said the brunet, causing her friend to rush off in search of a mirror.

I avoided the mirror, for fear that the image of my own humiliation might be too much, and also because it wasn't for me, and I feared being punished.

The brunet laughed at the reflection of my face, and then with her free hand grabbed my chin and told me to look at myself -- 'look at your miserable, pathetic face as you ride my fingers'.

'Do you think you look pretty?' said the redhead.

I shook my head.

'Do you think you look worthless?'

I agreed.

'As worthless as a toilet?'

I nodded, again.

'As worthless as a fully grown woman who is about to drink the piss of two university students who she hadn't even met this morning?'

I nodded again, feeling myself salivating at her words, upstairs and downstairs.

She untied my gag, and pulled out the panties, and then the redhead pushed me off her fingers, and I fell into the lap of her friend.

'Now turn around, and kneel before me,' the redhead shouted, so I did. She was still holding the fingers as they were, though this time dirty, brown and sticky.

'Would you like to suck my fingers?'

'Yes, mistress.'

'Beg me.'

'Please, mistress, please let me lick my shit from your fingers. Please let me clean you, mistress. Please. I beg you to let me suck your beautiful fingers clean of my dirty shit.'

I am, and I'm being modest here, the best beggar.

'Ok then,' she said, her hands still static, and I flung my head down, my hands onto the ground to steady myself, on all fours now sucking the shit frantically off her fingers. It was vile, though nothing I haven't tasted before. [Oh, I forgot to tell you. Amanda makes me eat my own shit sometimes, when she's feeling mean.]

The girls laughed again. This was becoming a theme. I liked it: it was different, and at first I felt I was being ridiculed, and somehow that offended me outside of the kink, but when I realised that ridicule is just a type of humiliation I started to enjoy it, embarrassing myself in front of them in the hope that they'd laugh at me.

Eventually she pulled her fingers out of my mouth and cleaned them in my hair, which had just about dried from the earlier spit.

'Right. Time for what Amanda tells us is your very favourite thing?' the redhead said. 'You wanna go first baby, or shall I?' she added, to her friend.

'I don't mind.'

It was agreed that the brunet would go first, and she hiked up her skirt and whipped off her panties in a flash. I was manhandled onto the floor facing upwards, my pussy and tits slapped and pinched in the process, and then the girls placed my clothes around my head so that 'if she spills it won't go on the carpet' -- though I would still be punished I was informed, despite only soiling my own clothes. She lowered herself onto my face, giggling as she did so, and confessing, though more to her friend than me, that she'd never done this before.

'Just think of it like pissing on those grim toilets in the club, covered in piss so's you have to hover -- that's all she is really,' her friend said as she assisted in the hovering.

Amanda usually faces so that she can look at my eyes in between my legs, but she went the other way, her knees pointing down in the same direction as mine, and thus, the fart that she emitted before starting to piss, landed straight onto my nose.

'Thank me,' she bellowed. And gulpingly I thanked her for the fart, which was immediately followed by another, that I too thanked her for. They didn't smell too bad luckily, not compared to Amanda's. I was trying not to think of her too much, but I naturally compared the bodily functions of anyone else to hers.

The first shot of piss hit my tits, as I rather expected it would, though I couldn't exactly comment could it?

The redhead laughed and said 'you can't punish her for that, divvy'.

'I mean -- after this we are just going to torture her anyway, who needs a fucking reason right?'

And she laughed again. With the piss running down the contours of my tits and off onto the carpet, and the thought of torture, I was starting to get very wet indeed.

She moved from her feet onto her knees and thus angled her cunt further down, allowing her a more direct run into my mouth, and the next stream went straight in perfectly. Though I still spilt as, naturally, she didn't stop to let me swallow, because to be fair to her you don't generally have to do that with toilets.

'God this is vile,' one of them said, laughing -- 'what kind of a pathetic slut enjoys this?'

I do, I thought. What kind of a pathetic slut am I? I thought, and I smiled, a pissy open-mouthed smile, though luckily neither of them saw.

I manged to gulp down three mouthfuls, with piss painting the lower half of my face each time I closed to do so. I could feel the clothes around my face getting wet, and knew that the carpet was likely a little soiled also, for which I would be punished on top of the just-for-fun torture that I was to expect shortly.

When she was finished she farted, again, for which I thanked her, and then I asked if she wanted me to lick her clean.

'Not a chance am I letting you touch my cunt. I'm not a fucking dyke' -- she laughed, though not as hard as her friend, and then she grabbed my hair and used that to clean herself, before throwing my head back down and then standing up and redressing.

'Don't worry,' said the redhead, interrupting my vehement apologies for offending the girl who'd just pissed on my face. 'I'm not in denial. You can definitely suck the piss out of my cunt when I've finished.'

The brunet grabbed the hood of my clit between her thumb and forefinger and twisted it aggressively. 'God I'm gonna love torturing you. Look how pathetically wet you already are.' She then walked off into the kitchen, kicking me a couple of times before she left.

The redhead undressed completely below the waist, nicely folding her jeans and her panties and leaving them far from any potential splash zone.

'She's evil ain't she. And look at how much you missed. I hope you like having a sore bottom.'

She sat the usual way (Amanda's way) on my face, and smiled down to see my eyes underneath her thighs. She pissed immediately, and violently, though she stopped to let me swallow, even saying each time: 'You can swallow now.'

I thanked her each time also, softly, and with genuine meaning: I was thankful for her kinder treatment of me. I didn't like to spill piss, that was a waste, after all, even if I did secretly enjoy the dampness of my clothes, adding to another dampness.

When she finished she asked me to lick her clean, which I did, and then she rhythmically rode my wet face, calling me names like 'toilet girl' and 'filthy piss drinking slut', until she eventually finished all over me, and my clothes. The degradation gave way to general swearing, and affirmation, though I think she was thankful to herself for the orgasm, I was merely the object of it. Essentially that was a wank, with my nose and tongue as the dildo.

She wiped my face and her cunt and thighs with my clothes, and when she told me to stand up there was, as predicted, a nasty stain on the carpet. She then asked me what I thought an appropriate punishment would be for that stain. I hadn't been punished yet, not by these do, and so had no idea what to say -- no frame of reference. With Amanda it would have been orgasm denial (or even the opposite: overstimulation), but it would probably have been presumptuous to think that they'd let me cum anyway.

'Come on, slut, think of something. You know you've been bad don't you?'

'Yes, mistress, I do. I've been very bad. I saw a whip in the bathroom. I think I should be whipped.'

'Good idea, where?'

'On my arse, mistress, and ... and on .... my cunt.'

'And on your cunt?'

'Yes, mistress. Because I'll hurt most there.' The words came out in a panic, it was like a test, or being picked on at school on the one question you don't know the answer to.

She smiled, a big smile. I guessed right.

'How many times?'

'Eerrrmmm ....'

'Right. I've got a number in my mind. If you guess it, then that'll happen. If you go over then you'll get whatever you say. And if you go under then you'll get twice my number. Does that sound fair?'

'Yes, mistress.'

I just said a number, 100 being the number, because I was panicking, again, and 100 seemed big.

'Is that a hundred on your cunt and another hundred on your arse, or fifty on each.'

'A hundred on each, mistress.'

'Then that's what you'll get.'

She never told me what she was thinking, which was clever, but horrible. It was probably lower, much lower.

Her friend came back and then the three of us went upstairs into one of the bedrooms, which was messy, very messy. There were handcuffs on all four of the bedposts, and a lot of dirty clothes strewn about the bed. The redhead, whose room I guessed it was, started to tidy up a little, including finding an old pair of panties and stuffing them into my mouth. I was made to lie face down on the bed and handcuffed to it, with my arms and legs out. A blindfold was put on me.

The first ten strokes were light, playful, though with a hundred to play with I guess that wasn't a crime. The eleventh, before which there was rather a long pause, was harsh. I yelped, dampened by the panties but still audible, having remained quiet until then.

One of the girls put on some music to 'drown out her screams'. The second ten were rougher, and slower, though through gritted teeth I managed to return to the state of silent sufferer. It was a point of pride with me, taking the pain quietly.

I sensed they were starting to get bored. No patience anymore, these kids. Amanda would do this for hours sometimes, enjoying the methodical nature of the repetition, easing into it and allowing all the stress of the day to come out through her hand. We didn't count, not always.

There were most definitely tears in my eyes by the time we hit fifty, at which stage one of the girls ran off.