Marriage to Agnes

A Story by ROMMEL, detailing further events in my association with the Dominant Agnes.

The last time I spoke to you regarding my complete relinquishing of control to the cruel, but mesmerising Agnes, you may recall that I finished by relating that we got married. This followed a demeaning weekend, during which, Agnes broke me utterly to her will, and I became totally besotted with her.

We have now been married for twelve months, the first nine months or so being the happiest time of my life. Agnes’s cruelty diminished somewhat during this period, only showing itself when I was guilty of some misdemeanour or other. As I have related before, she loved to kick, but her earlier viciousness had subsided considerably, only manifesting itself when she felt a strict punishment was necessary. On these occasions she let her natural instincts take over, and I felt the wrath of her feet punishing my body quite severely. Indeed, the purple bruises that covered my body rarely disappeared; a new batch taking over just as the old ones were fading away. She had stopped kicking me in the face because the lumps and abrasions this practise caused were very hard to explain to the neighbours. I met them often during my gardening chores, and to present them with a visage reminiscent of a Mike Tyson sparring partner after a particularly bad day would definitely have caused some interesting speculation.

Recently, however, Agnes has become a little withdrawn, and her periodic bouts of affability towards me have become less and less. She is sullen and distracted, and her cruelty is becoming more marked again. To give you an example, I recently made the cardinal error of missing a little mud on one of her high-heeled shoes whilst cleaning them. Her face twisted in fury when she saw the tiny spot adhering to one heel.

“Look at that,” she shouted, “You can’t do any bloody thing right. Now I am

really

going to punish you. Lie down on your back.”

I must admit to being a little surprised at the fury and vehemence in her voice. The offence certainly deserved a punishment of some nature, but she was treating it as though I’d kicked her pet cat whom she adored. However, I lay down dutifully at her feet and prepared for the worst that wasn’t long in coming. She slipped off her slippers and put on the offending high-heeled stilettos. “If you can’t clean them to my satisfaction, then I’ll take my satisfaction another way. Open your legs.”

Nervously, I did as she commanded. I knew what was coming. She had kicked me in the balls before, but that had always been during one of her little choose and kick games. She had never been in a temper as she now so obviously was. She stood between my parted legs, looked grimly into my frightened eyes, and launched a full- blooded kick straight into my groin. The pointed toe dug deep, and the world exploded into a fiery ball of excruciating pain. I screamed, yes, screamed, as the pain exploded upwards, causing my stomach to knot and threatening to cause a bout of involuntary vomiting as nausea clutched my throat. I curled into a tight foetal ball, my hands scrabbling desperately at my tortured testicles. Her foot landed again, but couldn’t find the desired groin area. Instead, it exploded against my chest but I hardly noticed it, every nerve ending responding to the agony of my genitalia. In frustration, she kicked me over onto my back and thrust her pointed heel deep into my neck. I gagged for air as my eyes travelled up her stockinged leg, taking in the reinforced crutch of her silky brown tights as she stood over me. I was perfectly aware at that moment that she was entirely capable of killing me with her pointed heel. If she thrust it hard and deep enough she could easily pierce my throat and that would be all she wrote. Sanity prevailed, however, and she reluctantly eased it off my neck, thrusting it instead deep into my mouth.

“Now finish the job,” she growled, “Suck it ‘till it shines.” She ground the heel from side to side as I desperately sucked on it, causing laceration and trauma to the delicate membranes at the back of my throat. When she was satisfied, she withdrew it from my mouth, took off the shoe and inspected it closely.

“

Now

it’s clean. Why couldn’t you get it right the first time and save yourself all this aggro?” And with that she walked away, leaving me still in agony on the kitchen floor, my punished mouth now adding to the torment of my aching groin.

I think that little episode gives you an indication of Agnes when aroused, and incidents like this grew in number steadily. I never complained, however, I still relished being at her feet and was prepared to soak up all the punishment she could offer, and

this

, it transpired, was at the root of the problem.

A few nights later we were sat in the lounge, Agnes drinking wine and myself with a large glass of her urine for sustenance. This was a practise she still regularly adopted, peeing into a jug several times during the day, and offering it to me in the evening. I didn’t mind. I may have said before, I considered it a privilege to drink her piss; I doted on her to the extent that I positively welcomed it.

I was aware of her studying me thoughtfully as I sipped her nectar.

“You quite enjoy that don’t you?” she said, “Drinking my piss is no trouble at all to you, is it?”

“No Mistress,” I replied, ( I still called her Mistress after months of marriage. I was never allowed to address her by her given name.)

“I consider drinking your urine a privilege and always will.”

“That’s what I thought,” she muttered, “And that’s why I have a problem. I’m at a bit of a loss as to just how to punish you severely when you piss me off. Kicking doesn’t do it, because you actually enjoy that too, don’t you?”

I didn’t know quite where this was going, so decided to tread warily.

“I wouldn’t say that Madam. You kicked me very severely the other day, my testicles still ache, and I honestly wouldn’t want to repeat the experience.”

“Oh yes, I know I hurt you, and you’re damned lucky it wasn’t worse, but overall you like being on the receiving end of my feet don’t you?”

She knew me too well; I had to be honest.

“Yes, I revere your feet Madam. I love to worship them, and to be kicked by them is a small enough price to pay for the privilege.”

“Right, that confirms everything I thought. Well, you might as well know that it leaves me a bit unhappy. You see,

my

kicks come from inflicting punishment, and if that punishment isn’t serving its purpose I feel unfulfilled. I’m going to have to think about this.”

I found this last statement a little ominous, but there was nothing I could do about it. She would do as she would. She always had, and would continue to do so. A little later, we indulged in a relatively new sex game that she had read about somewhere. This article stated that a climax achieved by a woman anally, was better than the Second Coming, and Agnes was anxious to put it to the test. Naturally, sexual intercourse didn’t come into it. I wasn’t allowed that, Agnes thought me entirely capable of achieving the desired result using only my tongue. She hadn’t achieved it yet, but admitted she had come close.

She knelt on the couch, her posterior invitingly presented for my ministrations. She still wore her knickers, a scanty little pair of black silk enticers that looked positively adorable. She always insisted on starting with her panties on, to Agnes it was some kind of little ritual I think. Not that I minded, Agnes’s knickers were objects of worship so far as I was concerned. I kneeled behind her between her legs, and applied my mouth to her silky bum. The slightly funky smell of her anus was mildly unpleasant, but one learned to live with it. I licked the panties gently at first, gradually increasing the pressure of my tongue as it sought her hole through the flimsy material. I probed the orifice consistently, but the black silk thwarted my efforts at actual penetration. At this point, Agnes reached behind and roughly pulled the gusset to one side.

“Alright, there you are. Dig in.”

And in I dug. I licked and sucked on the puckered orifice, ignoring the unpleasant taste, just as caught up in the act as Agnes was. Her ass bucked against my face as my educated tongue explored her secrets. I curled it into as narrow a prong as I could manage, and gradually inserted it into the hole, thrusting as deep as it would go. As her rectum became more pliable I was able to achieve quite a depth with my busy tongue, thrusting it in and out just as though it was a cock screwing her methodically. Suddenly,

disaster

, she farted; quite involuntarily I’m sure, but disastrous nevertheless. Somehow, I managed to control my sudden urge to back away from the repugnant smell that assailed my nostrils. I grunted, and, with great presence of mind, continued sucking on the offending hole. Agnes was quite impressed. She giggled and, with no word of apology, said “Didn’t mean to do that, but you handled it quite well. Reminds me of that night at Lisa’s when Bessie kept farting in your face. God, didn’t they stink? Do you think mine are a bit sweeter?”

I managed a small nod, my face still buried in her rectum. I hoped like hell she wouldn’t do it again, but I couldn’t help thinking that her emissions

were

definitely better than Bessie’s.

“Do you know,” Agnes then said thoughtfully, “I think you actually like my farts too, just like the kicks and the piss drinking.”

She was entirely wrong on this score, but I didn’t disabuse her of this conclusion; she might decide to use them as a punishment and I certainly didn’t want that. Of course, with my luck, the whole thing backfired on me.

I continued with the oral worship, anxious now to bring it to a satisfactory conclusion in case she farted again, which, naturally enough, she did. She even announced it this time.

“OK, get ready for another one, why don’t you open your mouth as wide as possible and cover my hole, that way you’ll receive the full benefit in your mouth. You should be able to taste it.”

Resignedly, I did as she ordered and received a short puff of foul gas that did, indeed, fill my mouth, lightly air- brushing my tongue in the process. I fought hard not to gag as the stink filled my sinuses, and just about succeeded. I stayed in control by thinking desperately of the origin of these noxious blasts. They were from Agnes, and should, therefore, be desired and appreciated. I don’t think I managed to convince myself that this was a good thing after all.

Agnes was convinced however. She truly believed that I welcomed her farting in my face, and decided to give me a treat. When the ass worship came to an end, resulting this time in a shuddering climax for her, brought on by her delighted frame of mind and my fingering of her clitoris, she announced a new game.

“Since you seem to enjoy my farts so much, I’m introducing a new ritual. From now on, whenever I feel the need to fart come on, I’m going to blow a whistle, and, wherever you are, you come running and stick your head up my skirt to receive the full benefit. We’ll both enjoy that. But make sure you come quickly before I have to let go. If you make me waste one, I’ll be very annoyed and you don’t want that do you?”

I groaned inwardly, but had the presence of mind to agree with her.

“No Madam, I certainly wouldn’t want that. I’ll come as quickly as I can. I certainly don’t want to let your excellent farts go to waste.”

This pleased her immensely I was gratified to see, and I actually felt quite proud that I was able to make her happy. If sniffing her farts were important to her, then who was I to complain? From then on, Agnes always wore a small umpire’s whistle around her neck when in the house, and I learned very quickly to be alert for its sound. When I did hear it, I would drop whatever I was doing and rush to her, kneel behind and thrust my head up her skirt, hopefully just in time to receive the full benefit of her expelled gas. It was noticeable at this time too, that Agnes started eating larger and larger portions of baked beans, with the inevitable result. All of this really did please her immensely. Unfortunately, it also prompted her back to the problem of suitable punishment.

One evening, just after I had completed my little ritual up her skirt, receiving a particularly noxious gust of bowel gas that almost made my eyes water, she announced her intention of using the toilet, claiming that that particular one indicated a swift and imminent movement of her bowels. She then frightened me to death by announcing that my presence would be desired immediately she finished. Off she went, leaving me in an agony of apprehension. You may recall that during my very first weekend with Agnes, she had finally broken me to such an extent, that when forced to push my head into the toilet bowl and stare at her turds, I had involuntarily licked one as a gesture of my complete submission to her. Since that day, scat had never been part of the scene, but I remembered all too well Agnes’s assertion very early on in our relationship, that she would love to force a man to eat her shit. Perhaps she was finally going to achieve her ambition. By this stage in our relationship, there was no way I could refuse her; I was too far- gone for that, but I fervently hoped I wouldn’t be put to the test.

After a few minutes she shouted for me, and I trod the stairs with the air of a man going to the scaffold. She stood by the side of the toilet with her panties still down around her ankles. The air was redolent of her excreta, which I presumed still rested in the bowl, as I had heard no flush operate.

Without preamble she said, “You know I have been troubled by any lack of suitable punishment, well now we have one. Regardless of the fact that you enjoy my farting in your face, (Oh Yeah?) I know you are deathly afraid of proper scat games. You once said to me that you would

never

indulge in that sort of thing, well, we’ll see. The punishments start off relatively innocuous, and escalate to the ultimate in scat control. If you don’t want to receive them, then just make sure you don’t make any mistakes

at all

. We’re now going to introduce you to the first punishment on the scale.”

“But I haven’t done anything wrong,” I managed with a dry throat.

“Doesn’t matter, I don’t need an excuse to punish you, you should know that by now. Now get over here.”

I went over and got onto my knees behind her as she indicated.

“You are now going to use your tongue as toilet paper, and you’d better do a good job or you’ll be doing it

every

time I take a shit, and not just as a punishment. Now clean me up.”

With that, she bent slightly and presented her soiled ass to me. I decided that speed was the only way to get through this. Do it as quickly as possible and try not to think about it. I closed my eyes and frantically started to lick her anus. The smell was awful, and I was aware of small particles of shit entering my mouth. What to do with it? I couldn’t swallow it, perhaps she’d let me spit it out when I’d finished. I think she read my thoughts.

“When you’ve finished licking and cleaning you can spit it out in the toilet, but

next

time you upset me, no matter for what, you will do this again and you will SWALLOW it.”

I determined that I was going to be the most obedient and attentive slave that served a Mistress from that time on; all to no avail of course. She enjoyed this ultimate humiliation too much not to indulge herself with it. She was finally realising her ambition. A man was going to eat her shit and she would revel in it

The very next day she complained that her breakfast eggs were too hard and that I would, consequently, accompany her whilst she carried out her morning ablution. This time, after licking the offending detritus from her anus, she watched as I swallowed it with a mean little smile on her face.

“Better get used to it, you’ll find it gets a lot worse than this.”

It certainly did get worse. The day came later in the week, when I spilled the bloody cat’s milk all over the kitchen floor. It was an accident of course, but that made no difference. She was livid, and after a few paralysing kicks to the ribs ordered me up to the bathroom with her. It was morning and she hadn’t as yet used the toilet, so I resigned myself to another ass cleaning operation. Things had changed. The punishment grading had gone up a notch. She stared at me coldly as she lowered her pretty pink panties.

“Now you take it in your mouth. Listen to these instructions carefully. You position your mouth closely over my arsehole and let the first turd slip directly into your mouth. When it’s full and can take no more, you will bite it off at that point, and watch whilst I finish shitting on the floor. You will then clean it all up using your hands only, and dump it into the pan.

My turd will remain in your mouth all this time.

Only when the tiles are clean will you spit it out in the toilet. Do you understand all that?”

I stared at her horrified.

“Do you understand?”

I managed a weak nod. She indicated that I kneel behind her and gave me one last word on the subject.

“If the first one doesn’t go in your mouth then I’ll make you eat it, so get good and ready.”

The ultimate trial was here at last, and I was completely helpless to do anything about it. She knew by now that I wouldn’t disobey her, and I knew it too. I positioned myself close behind her on my knees and stared at her brown ring, much as a rabbit might stare at a poised cobra. She strained and it pulsed slightly, but nothing came. She grunted and strained again, and this time the puckered ring began to open, and the first sight of her offering began to emerge. I stared at it mesmerised, noticing the deep shade of brown and how it glistened as it came faster and faster. Reality took over. If I didn’t catch it in my mouth I would have to eat it. Anything but that I thought frantically. I quickly covered the revolting thing with my lips and allowed it to access my mouth. It came fast and filled my mouth immediately, penetrating right to back of my throat. I gagged, but somehow managed to keep my gorge down. As instructed, I closed my mouth forcefully when it was completely full, which only took a split second. Then I knelt there, my mouth full of Agnes’s shit, and watched as she passed another pile on to the tiled floor. She stood upright and casually wiped her behind with toilet paper. I wasn’t required this time for that operation; I had enough on my plate.

“Open up, I want to see my shit in your mouth.”

I forced my lips apart and Agnes peered in.

“Very nice. I’ve always wanted to see that, and I expect to be seeing enough of it over the next few weeks until you learn to be more careful. Now clean that mess up.”

I started to pick up the mess from the tiles, my mouth bulging, but suddenly the overwhelming smell and vile taste of excreta overcame me, and I rushed to the toilet to be violently sick.

Agnes watched dispassionately.

“Pity you couldn’t take it. Now you’ll accompany me EVERYTIME I take a dump until you learn to control it. Now finish cleaning up the mess, there’s still a puddle of piss and a few bits of shit.”

I looked around for a cloth or mop to swab the remaining mess up with.

“No Dumbo,” sighed Agnes. “Don’t you ever learn? With your tongue, it desperately needs training; we’ve got to educate that pathetic stomach of yours. Get to it.”

I regarded the puddle of yellow urine, brown and murky where it lapped against the remaining shit. I hoped like hell I could keep my gorge down this time. The faster I learned how to do that the better it would be for me. I couldn’t stand many more of these sessions. I got to work.

Over the next three days I went through the same process again every time Agnes needed to go, which was certainly once, and sometimes twice a day. She was still into those beans! I was sick twice more before I managed to complete the required task, my mouth bulging with excreta, whilst Agnes watched, an amused little smile upon her face. Now, on the escalating scale of crime and punishment, there’s only the ultimate punishment left, and I must try to avoid that at any cost. I can’t leave her. The thought of never being able to worship and fondle those slim aromatic feet, eat her out for hours on end whilst she watches TV, and toast her with a glass of her own nectar, is unthinkable. So that’s just about the state of play now. Agnes is happy again now that she has her scale of punishments all laid out, and I will just have to learn to live with it. The trouble is,