Sweet Memories of Bitter Treat

Do comply with the law. If your government, in its wisdom, prohibits you from reading this, then do not read it.

My advice to you is that you should not read this. It contains graphic portrayals of bad things that people shouldn't do.

(WS, Fdom Msub, and I just realized there's no sex)

*

It was just one of the succession of things my Mistress has tried out in my submissive relationship with her. Everything else we've done was just playing the game properly, she treating me like her submissive for our mutual pleasure. For me, somehow, this was different, and it became my obsession.

There was a precursor when we were showering together. Suddenly she grabbed my hand and held it between her legs, not touching her, just a few inches away. She squatted slightly and suddenly there was a rush of hot liquid running over my cupped palm. Afterward I made sure to discreetly soap and wash my hands before the shower ended.

The first time it became one of our kinks, she had taken me out to a party wearing my studded dog collar. I'm as far away from punk as you can get, so from my viewpoint it was perfectly clear it was a slave collar, which meant everyone could see our secret. I didn't get much reaction, so it's entirely likely that few, if any, at the party knew she was doing it to embarrass me. But I was conscious of it, so despite no real reaction from the people at the party I was embarrassed, as she wished. As a result I drank a little too much.

When we got home, she built up the embarrassment by making me kneel before her outside our front door. "You really have the taste of humiliation in your mouth now, don't you?" She asked, quietly but firmly. She wanted to drive her point home. "Are you enjoying being my little slave of passion?"

After a few minutes of verbal abuse, we went inside. She walked me by the hand into the bathroom and had me kneel before her while she sat on the toilet. She often required me to "be in attendance" to her when she did personal things, so this was not unusual. She told me to close my eyes and open my mouth, and then she put her finger in my mouth. "Suck," she said, so I did. After a moment she said, "open," and removed her finger. We'd done mouth play before, and I knew I was to leave my mouth open for whatever she wanted to put in next. She repeated this a few times, and I was starting to get turned on. There was a tinkling sound, then her finger re-entered my mouth and she rubber it in a few circles on my tongue. There was a slight taste, not too unpleasant. The tinkling continued while she did this. The finger was removed then returned, again rubbing on my tongue. A third time, more finger on my tongue, then she said, "suck my finger again."

So I did. And while I sucked her finger, the tinkling ended. Suddenly I realized the tinkling was my mistress peeing, and it seemed likely the taste in my mouth must be her urine.

"There," she said. "That should get the taste of wearing my collar to a party out of your mouth."

I wondered how I was supposed to react. She made it clear, when we were starting out, she expects me to just stoically take what she gives me. But I've learned she enjoys the game more when I give her a reaction. I guess she thought it would taste awful, that I would really hate the experience. But the taste wasn't all that bad, right at the edge of being pleasant. I really didn't mind, and still another form of submission to her was still another turn-on for me. So, should I give her a reaction indicating I liked it, or that I didn't? I decided to give her a smile.

Soon after she began telling me to licking her clean after she used the toilet. This became nearly a constant in our lives. Most memorably, with six guests in our home for a dinner party, she took me into the bathroom to perform this service just before she served. While the men didn't seem to notice, the women all raised their eyebrows, suspecting something interesting had just taken place. We weren't gone long enough even for a quickie, which added to the intrigue. I enjoyed the embarrassment, especially because there would have been a much stronger reaction had they known exactly what we had done for those few minutes.

I got only the slightest taste of her urine during these times, so she pretty much tasted the same.

A few months after we started, when Mistress got up one morning she called me into the bathroom as usual, but told me to pass the bathroom cup. She peed into the cup while I knelt before her, filling the cup about half-way then finishing into the toilet. She stood, and had me lick her clean as before.

Then she handed me the cup. "You don't have to swallow," she told me. "Fill up your mouth and hold it in your mouth until I tell you."

After an instant's hesitation, I obeyed. I was still on my knees before her, she stood between me and the toilet. The view before my eyes, beautifully framed by her silk robe, was the naked pussy from which this urine had just come. I filled my mouth with as much of the warm liquid as I could hold. Then I looked up at her and waited. It was probably just a minute, perhaps even less, but it did seem like a long time. Looking up like that, there was liquid trickling into my throat, and it took some effort not to swallow. Finally, she took the cup from me, stepped aside and said, "you may spit." I spit it out into the toilet.

A new morning routine emerged for us, lasting several weeks. First thing in the morning, I would take her urine in my mouth and hold it. Sometimes she would tell me to gargle, other times she would leave me on my knees while she started getting ready for her day. I would kneel there, cup in hand and holding a mouthful of her urine, for five or ten minutes before she would tell me I could spit and dump the rest of the cup.

I had been assuming all this time that urine was a bad thing to ingest, so I was enjoying the sense of risk along with the submission and humiliation. So I went online to find out how big the risk was, and of course I found information that told me that drinking urine was not considered dangerous, and in fact there are people who drink their own urine every morning because they believe it has health benefits.

So one morning, when she handed me the cup, I took a sip and swallowed, took another sip. She watched in amazement as I drank down an entire cup of her morning urine.

"Well," she said. "I can see I haven't been pushing you hard enough." So our routine shifted to my drinking her piss every morning.

She started making me drink her urine at other times, especially if she had been drinking. At first it was just at home, late in the evening, while drinking wine and talking. Then, one night in a nightclub, she excused herself and went to the ladies' room. To my surprise she returned casually holding a glass in her hand. She handed it to me and told me to drink it down, and I did.

The next time we were at a party. The house was crowded and we had been separated by the flow of socializing. Suddenly she reappeared by my side. She pressed a wine glass into my hand, it was still quite warm. "Drink," she said. So I did, while she smiled in approval. I doubt anyone there noticed the little transaction between us.

I drank her urine from wine glasses, martini glasses, champagne glasses, highball glasses and little plastic cups in clubs, in restaurants, on an airplane, at a picnic and at a wedding reception. It was a thrill for me to perform, privately yet so publicly, this act of submission to my beloved mistress.

One day Mistress was reading ancient Latin poetry and read a footnote that told her in the time of the Caesars some people used urine to brush their teeth. So, for a while, I brushed my teeth with a toothbrush dipped in fresh, warm urine.

Her friends knew that I typically yielded to Mistress in all things. Most of my friends knew I was "pussy-whipped." But Mistress had not chosen to tell anyone, at least that I knew of, of how fully she dominated me. I chose not to tell my friends just how enthralled I was of her. Let them find their own perfect woman!

Our secrecy changed one evening when she went out to the cinema with some friends, and on the spur of the moment they all came back to our place afterwards. I tried to stay unobtrusive, to leave the five women to do as they pleased unimpeded by a male presence. I opened a bottle of Merlot and a bottle of Riesling for them, took an ale for myself and went back to my book in the other room. I was vaguely aware of their voices, sometimes loud and excited and sometimes falling to a hush, punctuated by occasional one-syllable exclamations, the way a conversation ebbs and flows among a group of women who are close friends.

Suddenly she called me to bring her a pilsner glass. I was surprised she would switch to beer, but of course I complied. Then she shocked me by telling me to kneel, right in front of her four friends, in the voice that said we were mistress and submissive. She hiked up her skirt, told me to pull down her panties, squatted a little and peed into the glass.

"Clean me," she directed, and I complied.

She put her finger in the urine and I opened my mouth without prompting. She rubbed her finger over my tongue, dipping several times into the glass as she worked. I sat there on my knees and let her, and let her friends watch. I sucked her finger clean when she indicated I should.

Then she handed me the glass.

The glass being narrow, the piss rose to an impressive height. It wasn't all that full, perhaps not even as much as I was used to seeing in the morning.

But there were four women watching.

I drank her urine in front of her friends. I didn't chug it down, I sipped it calmly.

She dismissed me, and I rinsed the glass in the kitchen on my way out. My ears burned as I heard the group of women shift from rapt silence to everyone talking at once. I remember clearly hearing one voice above the others saying, "oh, yeah, my guy is going to do that."

I knew that my position among her friends was forever changed. At the time I was certain many of her other friends would soon hear, and perhaps, through them, some of my friends and I would be undone. In truth, I never heard anything back referring to the event, so perhaps her closest friends are more discreet than I credit them.

The event seemed to open my mistress' range with watersports. A few times a week, she gave me a golden shower, peeing on my face as I knelt before her in the bath. For my part, I enjoyed having my face covered by her pee as I tried to get at least some of it into my mouth. She soon developed the idea of covering my face with urine, then making me sit, waiting for permission to clean myself up until she was done showering.

A few times, when she was going to leave me home alone, she would take a cotton swab and carefully paint a urine mustache under my nose. The aroma would evolve over time, from innocuous at the beginning, through a peak of sweetness before it faded. Because the urine dried on my lip, there was little ammonia.

Nearly every time we went to a party, I could rely on her to bring me a glass to drink from. I would even encourage her to drink a glass of water before we would depart. I was both bolder and more self-conscious now, knowing that the people we were about to spent time with might have heard about this little detail in our relationship. There was always a little thrill of embarrassment when I drank from her glass. But I did not let myself look around while I drank, figuring that I would only call attention to myself. Her purpose was to demonstrate her mastery over me, my purpose was to show her how fully enthralled I was to her, and we both got what we wanted.

At a restaurant, she went to the ladies' room as soon as we were seated, and made me keep the glass of urine on the table beside my wine glass and water glass, sipping from it on command all through the meal. Finally, I discovered how urine could be unpleasant. At one hour old, the urine had an awful odor and flavor. So I tossed back the last of it and casually asked her if she wanted to order a refill for me, but she declined.

Once she crushed ice in a tumbler and filled it, giving me "iced pee" to drink. I did not like it as much cold. Even thought it was quite fresh, somehow it was much less pleasant.

While I didn't tell her how much I liked the flavor of her pee, I'm sure my enthusiasm for this kink in our relationship showed her I found it better than just bearable. What I enjoyed initially was the amazing variety of flavors. Saltiness and sweetness came and went with what she'd been eating and drinking, the acid mouth-feel varied greatly and a million other flavor notes that I couldn't begin to describe. Tasting her urine was like tasting wine, something different every time you took another glass.

Over time I became more aware of the aftertaste. I suppose, like wine, I developed a more educated palate. The aftertaste has several elements. The flavor lingers, reminding you of what you've allowed into your mouth. I could often feel a texture down my throat, lasting for some time after I swallowed. I might well be imagining this, or it could be an upset, but after drinking down a whole glass of her fresh urine, I swear there is a special warm feeling in my stomach as well. Every once in a while, perhaps eating soup, I experience for just an instant a little flash memory of how that aftertaste felt.

The aftertaste lasts for a long time, hours even. Once, in an evening out on the town, I drank her pee in a nightclub, then later I drank her pee again just before we went to bed. I woke up in the morning, just slightly hung over and savoring the aftertaste which still remained in my mouth.

The next stage in this facet of our relationship came when I went on a series of short business trips. I realized I missed the opportunity to drink her morning urine, and she realized that she could only dominate me with her pee when I was sleeping with her. So she announced to me that, every time I went to the toilet, I was to dip my finger in the stream and rub it on my tongue as she had when we started, repeating twice. This applied no matter where I was, at home, executive washroom in the office, public restroom, customer's office, or airplane. She took me to the bathroom right then, requiring me to demonstrate my understanding of her instructions.

Every time I went to the bathroom, I had to plan ahead so I would have the privacy needed to follow my mistress' instructions. I sat down to pee a lot more often, so I could be behind a stall door. Once in a bar, the stall had someone in it so I stood at the urinal, dipping in two fingers in rapid succession and reaching for my mouth, trying to get in as many dips as I could before my stream ended. It was a thrill to do this in such a public restroom, where I might well have been seen doing my kinky little thing.

Because I was tasting my own, fresh urine absolutely every time I used the toilet, I had the pleasure of the aftertaste in my mouth pretty much nonstop. I would even skip meals so the taste of the food wouldn't change the aftertaste I had come to love and to crave.

For the longest time, we both reveled in the connection her urine gave us. There is a little streak of sadism in her, though, so she gets more enjoyment from our activities when I don't enjoy them. But in the end, she decided she wanted to do things to me that I didn't like, not that I did like.

She still spanks me, and I like her to spank me, but I like the spankings because I liked that pain. Spankings also left me sore for a day afterwards. I like her to tie me up, I've even spent the night curled up naked on the floor, hands and feet tied to the footpost of our bed. I love her teasing me, when she gets me excited then refuses to give me the pleasure of release. But each of those things have an unpleasant edge to them. I could not report anything at all unpleasant about drinking her urine. For that reason, she lost interest.

I do sometimes kneel before her in personal attendance, but I rarely am rewarded by the hot cup of urine. She occasionally gives me a glass in a public place, in part because of the heightened humiliation and in part because she knows my enjoyment is less when people might notice. When I travel, I sometimes give myself the treat of brushing my teeth in my own urine at night.

I have learned that I can ply her with alcohol at the right pace, so that when she is a little tipsy at the time she needs to pee, she will stop and look at me with a certain expression on her face. I play the game with her by taking her out, showing her a good time, and helping her reach that exact point in the evening that I can then enjoy the result. So this wonderful treat still comes to me, just not every day as I'd like. I'm still addicted, but my beloved Mistress gives me only a little. I love that, too.

*

Do live your life in a safe manner. Confusing fantasy with reality is called schizophrenia. The author, having done a significant amount of research for this story, reports to you that the reality can be very different from the fantasy.

The author using the pseudonyms Henry Daniels claims copyright to this work as of 2012. You must not repost, nor republish, this story in any form without first obtaining the consent of the author at the contact information above.

Comments most welcome via the comments system here. I want to improve as a writer, so I am interested in particular in editorial comments.