Sodden

It is dark when I arrive at your house. I am already desperate to pee following your instructions to drink a pint of water before getting in my car. I hadn't wanted to, what if there are traffic problems? What if I can't wait the 40 minutes it takes to get to yours? Fear that the instruction of itself means you will deny me when I ask to go to the toilet. But I obeyed without query. My desire to please and obey overriding my natural common sense and instinct to be sensible about drinking before I get in my car.

I am wearing a skirt, a low cut top, no underwear. As instructed. Clothes you had instructed me to buy from a charity shop. £10 budget. The evening is cool and dry, not cold. I am perspiring with nerves, and I really do need to pee. My nipples are stiff already. With no ceremony, you kiss me hard on the mouth, and then show me what is in your hands. A ball gag. The one I hate. Large and cumbersome for me. It isn't the drooling that bothers me so much as how uncomfortable it is. I hate it.

You smile at me and knowing what you wish, I murmur, "Whatever pleases you, Master," and open my mouth. I am used to your praise when I say that. But this time nothing, just insertion of the horrid thing, the strap tightened.

"Do you have something else to say to me, slut, a request perhaps?" I look at you, surprised and yet not that you have waited till the gag is in place before you invite me to speak. You must be feeling sadistic. Part of me thrills at that, part of me sighs. Part of me feels the grit of defiance this most often sparks in me.

I attempt to say "Please may I go to the toilet, Master?" but only muffled squashed noises come, and a little tear of saliva dribbles from the left corner of my mouth.

"Well, I'm not sure what you said just then, my little slut, but I can imagine. Feeling a little full, are we?" At this you press your hand against my abdomen, just over my bladder. I close my eyes and moan at you.

And then, "No, you may not go to the toilet. I have a little game in mind, which will please me, though I'm not quite so sure you will enjoy it. But, then, this isn't about your pleasure, is it slut? This is about pleasing me, your Master. Whatever pleases me, as you so rightly pointed out just moments ago." I bow my head, suspecting now that I am in for a difficult time tonight. Tonight I will be pushed.

You produce a knife, run it over my cheeks, my neck, my arms. And then gripping my skirt, in one hand, you cut it from me. I am shocked by this, at the vandalism of it I suppose, and yet it makes since given your charity shop instructions. "Kick your shoes off, slut."

I am now naked from the waist down, and keenly aware of my need to pee. Slowly now, you cut my top from me, the sound of the blade in the fabric, the occasional catching and tearing as it slices, arousing and yet frightening. We have done little knife play, and though I trust you, it is still inherently scary. I am keeping as still as I can.

"Now, I would imagine you're not very thirsty right now are you slut?" As you speak, you lead me through to the lounge, and there in the middle of the floor, on a plastic mat, I see a shiny dog bowl, full of water. Jesus, he can't mean to make me drink anymore, not before he lets me pee? You briskly remove the gag.

I wonder why he'd bothered with it at all, as it's clear what he intends for me to do straight away. In my head I realise tonight is likely to be a constant onslaught. I will not have time to process or make sense of what you command, of what you choose to do to me. I am grateful the hated gag is gone though.

"Down, slut. On your hands and knees, and drink. Drink until I tell you to stop." I whimper, but kneel as instructed, but hesitate with my mouth inches from the bowl. I am not sure I can do this. We've done very little in the way of humiliation play, and this is very very humiliating for me. I can feel my desire to obey warring with my "no way" reaction.

When I've felt this before, I've needed your gentle persuasion, your help, to obey. And I know I won't get that this time. You expect me to obey, and sure enough, my momentary hesitation results in a sharp thwack to my arse with something heavy and stingy. I cry out. It isn't your hand, so you must have set something aside for just this reaction. You knew I'd need...encouraging. And tonight you don't intend to do that encouraging gently.

"I said drink, slut, and I meant immediately. Not when you decide you can bring yourself to obey me. Drink, now." Another sharp blow to reinforce your words. I feel my cunt throb and grow wet even as a tear comes to my eyes as I lower my face to the water and drink. You grunt in satisfaction, but the "good girl" I hope for does not come. I feel something of my defiance kick in, a determination to grit my teeth and take what you decide to dish out.

I have drunk an inch and a half of water from the bowl, sucking it up as best I can, swallowing in this strange position. Aware of myself, aware of my bladder. Aware of you. "Enough, slut. That'll suffice. Come here and kneel for me, hands on your thighs, open for me." I kneel in front of you as instructed, grateful for something of normality. A normal type of routine. Comforting.

You reach forward and pinch my nipples, your fingers then moving to my clit and cunt. An evil chuckle now and a sarcastic comment about how wet your little slut is. "Perhaps you will enjoy tonight more than I expected, slut. Your body is enjoying what I'm making you do, even if your mind isn't." You wrench my head back by my hair and reach to free your cock from your trousers.

" I know that you need to piss, slut. And I know that that need will only grow over the next minutes....and maybe hour or so." I groan at this. "But while I let that urge grow and overwhelm you, I'm only really interested in my pleasure, not yours. Now suck." And with that you ram your cock into my mouth, and proceed to fuck me as I frantically try to accommodate you, find a rhythm myself that means I am not constantly gagging and out of kilter with your movement.

You are not interested tonight in my controlling the movement so much as you are interested in holding my head tight, and literally fucking my mouth and throat. I am retching and gagging, saliva is trickling down my mouth and chin, and threads of it now stringing to my breasts. I am fighting to breathe.

You are simply grunting your satisfaction and taking your pleasure. My lips are catching on my teeth. Tears leaking from my eyes, nose dripping now from the constant gagging. Suddenly you pull away, your hand in my hair holding my head tilted back.

"My mouth, slut, mine to fuck as I please, when I please, how I please. I know you love sucking this cock, but tonight is utterly about me taking, on my terms, when and how I please." You smear the mess of tears, snot, saliva across my face and chest, slapping my tits as you do so.

I manage to murmur, "Yes Master, whatever pleases you." I feel a vicious stab of anger at having to say those words, the normal loving sense in which I utter them not relevant here. This is almost self preservation. And yet I feel my cunt wetter still.

Only I can't revel in the throbbing of it, as the need to urinate is now overpowering. I don't want to ask permission. I am angry and smarting. But I know I must ask. Even if it means being denied. "Please Master, if it pleases you, may I go to the toilet."

You smile sadistically at me. "No, slut, you may not pee. You don't sound nearly desperate enough." I whimper dejectedly. But determine to wait, to obey.

You sit down on the sofa in front of me, my kneeling position correctly assumed again. My eyes are downcast, and my brain is now in a loop of "oh god I need to pee, I need to pee, I need to pee." You sit silently, watching me I assume, and yet utterly ignoring me. Moments pass, and I whimper and shift uncomfortably. In barely a whisper, and with my eyes closed, I manage "please Master, if it pleases you, please may I pee now. I am desperate....please may I go pee".

You shift and reach for something behind the sofa. I daren't open my eyes and look. My focus is utterly on what I hope your next words will be, a relenting, and permission to go to the toilet. Though by this stage I am unsure I can even crawl up the stairs to relieve myself. The need to piss is almost more than I can bear. And then utter shock at the next word I hear. "No".

I believe I even cry out in agony with the shock of this. How can you say no??!! I squirm and whimper, and tears come to my eyes. I am just about to plead again, certain you will not want me to piss on the floor, even if your intention is to thoroughly humiliate me. The mess....and yet I am so desperate now I don't care. I can't think straight. Whole body and brain just wants relief from this stinging ache to piss.

"No. slut, you may not go pee. Open your eyes." Eyes swimming a little with the effort to concentrate outwardly, I see you have a large plastic bowl in your lap. I whimper, grasping instantly what you intend me to do.

"Yes, slut, you may pee. You may squat on the mat there, over this bowl, and piss in front of me. If you can, of course. I know that you are desperate to go, but if you wish to pee, you do it on my terms. Not yours, not in privacy." An evil laugh as you know I struggle with this, that I can be desperate to pee and yet not be able to if someone is watching me. I start to cry in genuine anguish and distress. You hand the bowl to me. "Go, go pee for me, slut. Now."

You lean back fully relaxed and in control, enjoying my suffering. I stand and shuffle as best I can to the mat, in real pain and need. I cannot bear knowing you are watching this ..mess of my need and urge to relieve myself. It hurts in a way I have never felt before. I am ashamed at my lack of control. That I have allowed you to reduce me to such a base level, and yet here we are, in your front room, with you sitting comfortably. Almost as if you are watching the tv, or a movie. So incongruous. So humiliating. So humbling.

I sob as I squat over the bowl, the squatting now pressing unbearably on my bladder. The pain excruciating, not least because my mind is preventing my letting go. I cannot pee!! I have to pee, I can't bear this pain. I can't let the humiliation stop this. I can't. I can't look at you. I stare at the floor through my tears and imagine as vividly as I can that I'm out on a walk alone and need to pee...and how many times have I done just this, squatted and peed in a field or the woods?

I am alone, just me, I need to pee. I feel my mind relax just the tiniest bit, and the tiniest dribble of piss leaves my body. I sob in relief as the dribble becomes a trickle, and then flows, gushes even. The blessed relief as the pressure is relieved is unbelievable. Time seems to slow as I pee and pee and pee.

And then shock as I feel you touch me from behind. I have not been aware of your moving, as caught up in the relief as I've been, eyes closed to try ignore where I am. Your fingers are in the flow of piss, your fingers at the opening of my cunt, pressing against my urethra, preventing the flow momentarily.

I cry out at the invasion, at the humiliation, even flinch from your hand. I can't stop the pee coming, there is too much, and I need to be empty. Your fingers move to my clit, and I feel a surge of intense arousal that I'm squatting here, peeing in front of you, and you are touching me intimately. "My little piss whore, hmmm? Peeing in front of me, just as I wanted you to. My terms. Can't stop it can you, slut? Hmmm?"

I groan and feel strange surges of almost pre-orgasmic sensation flood my cunt and stomach. I know that as well as the piss flowing from my body, that I am also wet, my cunt well and truly self lubricated. You treating me like this has a profound effect on me, overriding my "I shouldn't like or want this" filters.

You continue to touch my clit, and your fingers invade my cunt too. I hear you chuckle gently at how wet you find me. Your fingers begin to fuck me, even as I continue to pee. "STOP, slut. Stop peeing now. Hold it in."

Firm firm command, your fingers pinching my clit and plugging my urethra. I struggle to hold back now. Still feel my bladder with piss to evacuate. No urgency now, but a desire to be empty. You will not let me empty my bladder. I remain where I am, shuddering slightly at what has just transpired, naked and squatting.

You pull the bowl from between my legs, your right hand sodden in my urine. You push me onto all fours. I feel the wet on the skin of my right buttock and shoulder where the piss has transferred to me. I can smell urine, faint and not unpleasant, as dilute as it is. You bring your hand in front of my face. I feel panic as I know what's coming. "Lick it, slut. Lick your piss from me. NOW."

I shiver and groan, but open my mouth obediently. Can feel a tear forming again at the further humiliation of this. I lick your hand, tentatively. Salty, sweet, not unpleasant, but a voice in my head going "BUT IT'S PISS! How disgusting are you?"

Now your hand clamps over my mouth and beneath my nose. I can smell myself, taste myself. Feel your hand gripping my face, feel your body pressing against me. Aware now of your naked cock pressing against my arse. Aware that you were likely as not wanking as you watched me piss, and wanking as you touched me while I was pissing. That you were thoroughly aroused by what you were making me do.

Thoroughly aroused at my anguish, my struggle, my humiliation. You manoeuvre yourself into a fucking position, and enter me. I am dripping wet and cry out at the sudden brilliant fullness, the heat of your adored cock inside me. "Oh yes it turns me on watching you crying and struggling and fighting me. Turns me on no end, slut. Now keep still and quiet while I take my pleasure."

I whimper and keep as still as I can, as quiet as I can. Total anathema, normally I move, and cry out, and am free to respond naturally, as my body wishes to. Not today. Still and quiet. An object for him to fuck. You grind into me and move increasingly faster, thrusting deeply and then just so the head of you cock enters me. "Grip that cunt hard around my cock slut, just like you know I like it."

I clench my muscles as tightly as I can, and you groan out your appreciation and pleasure. Another pounding few moments, and your foot is placed on my head, your finger is inserted in my arse, feeling almost as much that you are anchoring yourself within me as much as anything. The relief I feel at something "normal" immense. The humiliation slowly fading away in the glorious feel of my Master fucking me hard.

You withdraw your finger and cock. Tell me to turn and face you. Open my mouth. You wank your cock into my mouth, and then hesitate. "No, I don't think I'll feed you in the usual way, slut. I think we'll push you just that little bit on that front shall we."

I moan in frustration, my mouth open and waiting for the gift of your cum to splatter on my tongue and glide down my throat as I swallow you.

You direct me to sit back again, kneel for you, and you direct your cock instead at the plastic mat that the bowls rested on. There are splashes of water, or urine, on the mat still. And I grasp instantly what you intend. The thought of what you are doing is clearly as arousing to you as the thought of ejaculating into my mouth, for you grunt and stiffen, and cry out as your cock sprays cum onto the mat in front of you. Before you have even calmed from your orgasm, your hand grasps my head, and forces it to the mat. "Feed, slut. Lick your Master's cum from the plastic like the little cumwhore you are."

I whimper but open my mouth, squirming against your hand on my head. Your other hand pinches my left nipple viciously. I cry out loudly. "I SAID, feed slut. NOW." I lower my tongue to the matt and lap at your warm cum, aware that I may also be licking up drops of spilled piss, but obeying you nonetheless. When the little puddle is gone, and I have made sure there are no stray drops, you pull me up by my hair.

I must look dreadful. Hair dishevelled, face streaked from tears and snot, urine and cum. "Well, I have to say, slut, that you don't look nearly as grateful as you should, having been allowed the privilege of swallowing your Master's cum. I like my sluts to show their gratitude. If they don't, I like to teach them to learn to show their gratitude. You seem in need of a little education."

Your hand guides my head roughly, making me crawl towards the sofa. You virtually throw me across it, so that my upper body is resting on the leather while I remain kneeling on the floor. I hear the whirl of a cane in the air, and my eyes widen at the thought of being so suddenly punished. So quickly. No time to collect myself from the onslaught of what has gone before, the humiliation, the fucking, the unusual feeding.

There is no preamble from you, none of the usual verbal teasing about being caned, about how many blows you may deliver, about how I am to count, or thank you for the blows. You simply hit me. Hard. Once. Twice. Three times. I cry out after each blow. Unable to process the pain in between strikes. Tears again coming to my eyes. Anger and pain and hatred now. Fear too. How far are you going to go?

You strike me time after time. I have no idea how many blows. I am crying, writhing to move from you. But always brought back to the position you put me in. I bring myself back to it. Knowing only from your silence and never ending patience that you are going to hit me, till you no longer wish to hit me. And I need to assume the very position you placed me in, again and again. Till you tell me you've had enough. I daren't beg for mercy. I am too scared to hear you say, "Silence, whore. I stop when I decide to stop." For I know that is what I will hear. And I can't bear the thought of actually hearing it.

But it doesn't stop you leaning in to me, so you can whisper, "Yes I know, slut. You want to beg me to stop, don't you? But you daren't. For you know what I will say. And guess what, I haven't decided I wish to stop yet. I want to see a few more bruises on that lovely arse. I want to make very sure I've taught you some gratitude and manners."

And the blows continue.

Until You decide to stop.

You stop.

I am crying, my face buried in the sofa. The pain already fading in my arse now, an instant after your onslaught stops. As it always does. As I always know it will do. How I am able to keep accepting, when it hurts like fuck and I feel broken and taken and used and abused.

There is no aftercare now. Just you lifting my head, and presenting me with a pint of water. Oh god...I wail inside my head that no, this cannot be happening. Not more water, no more peeing...I cannot do this. My tiny grain of equanimity and stability and security in my own survival and ability to forbear, that I felt just a moment ago, trickling away in the relentlessness of what you continue to do.

"Drink it, whore, all of it. NOW." You hold the pint glass for me, and my hair in the other hand. Slightly slackened to allow me to move enough to swallow the water. The last mouthful spills from my mouth and dribbles down my chin, neck, onto my breasts and stomach. "Dirty girl," you mutter. I can still feel the urge to piss from my previous drinking. It isn't urgent, but this further drink will make it so.

I'm worn down. I just want to curl up and sleep, escape this reality and wake up to the "normal" you and me. What I'm used to. Not this relentless taking and using. No softness or love in it. No matter it's arousing in its own way, and part of me wants it. It's not stopping when I think it should stop. I'm collapsed on the floor at the base of the sofa now.