Depths Of Depravity 01 The Stranger 01

Author's note: The Depths of Depravity series is an anthology of short, stand-alone stories. They're written from a first- and second-person perspective, with the first-person character being a nameless, faceless, dominant man, and the second-person character a submissive woman. I've kept the physical descriptions of these characters as light as possible, so that the reader may project their own images onto them as freely as possible.

This story has themes of watersports, humiliation, misogyny, and objectification.

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I am watching you at the restaurant. You are with someone, perhaps a date, a colleague. I see you excuse yourself and head to the bathroom. But you don't realize that you left the bathroom door unlocked. Or maybe you did, secretly wanting to get caught. Wanting someone to walk in and catch you being your true self - a disgusting set of holes who will do anything for any kind of approval from men.

I wait a minute, then follow quietly. I open the door and see you. I see you sitting on the toilet, looking down at the piss trickling from between your legs. Before you can react to me being there, I cross the floor and clamp my hand over your mouth. I push you down to the ground, your knees hitting the cold tiles. You don't yet register what is happening, but you're trying to look up to get a glimpse of my face.

That's not important. I grip your hair and turn you around. My other hand still over your mouth, preventing you from screaming. You're kneeling in front of the toilet now. I love the way your tits jiggle beneath your dress as you take in rapid, panicked breaths. The fear in your eyes is intoxicating, but misleading. I can see your nipples starting to harden, poking through the dress, revealing how you truly feel. I smile. Slowly, I start pushing your head down into the toilet bowl.

What I sight you make. I know that for all your resistance, some part of you wants this. You could easily make a fuss, yell for help. But you don't. You don't even realize I'm no longer covering your mouth. I lower you further, until your face is right where you were just pissing. You can see the yellow water in the bowl You can smell it. And you know you want to taste it. Go ahead, stick out your tongue. You know you want to. You want to show me what a disgusting, depraved, whore you are. You want me to see you with your head in the toilet bowl, lapping up your piss in it. Your tits touching the cold porcelain, your hair dripping into the yellow liquid as you debase yourself for the amusement of a stranger. I watch you wiggle your ass as I stand behind you.

This is where you belong. You know that. You realize that this is your natural place. Your face in your own piss, not caring what else happens. A part of you is terrified, a part of you is disgusted, but another part of you is happy. Happy that someone forced you to face your true self. Happy that you don't have to hide yourself anymore. Happy that you can indulge the most depraved parts of your mind without guilt.

You feel my foot kick your thighs apart further. You feel the top of my leather shoe tap against your dripping wet cunt lips and you let out a moan into the piss below your face. You feel me brushing your pussy lips with my foot, and you push back, trying to hump it. Desperately trying to get yourself off, thankful that I at least thought you were worthy enough to spoil my shoes with your cunt juices. Humping it like a desperate bitch in heat, moans and grunts escaping your mouth as your face and lips are covered in your wet, warm, piss.

What a sight you are. Your disgusting, ugly body bent over the toilet, being held down by my hand at the back of your neck, moaning into your own pee as you hump a stranger's shoe in order to get off. Doing your best to prove you are worth something, anything, as I reach around with the other hand and pinch your nipple. Twisting it and making you squirm, which only makes your clit throb harder as it brushes over my shoelaces. Wincing as I slap your whore tits. I can smell your filth. Your cunt juices, the stench of your pee in the air, the desperation dripping off your body.

It repulses me. I rub my shoe harder against your pussy. You hear me reaching up to unbuckle my belt. Unzipping my pants as I take my cock out. Your heartbeat quickens - maybe - finally - a man will think you are good enough to fuck. Maybe your sopping cunt will get some relief.

But you know that's not what you deserve. You don't deserve any pleasure. You deserve to be used, abused, and then thrown away. No self-respecting woman would do what you are doing right now, but then again, you're not a self respecting woman are you. You're an object. No better than the brush you were fucking yourself with before I walked in. No better than the toilet that your face is currently in.

Well then, if you are no better, I won't treat you any better than that. You hear it at first, the low hiss, before you feel my warm piss over your back. Running down your shoulders into your hair, you feel it trickle from the back of your neck and over your tits. You feel a stream run down your face and into your mouth, and all you can do, pinned down as you are, is to hump my shoes faster as I continue pissing over you. The acrid taste, the warmth, the smell as it mixes with your own pee in the bowl, and being unable to do anything to stop it. Not wanting to stop it, even. Wanting it more and more as you hump yourself faster and faster. Twisting and slapping your own tits, hoping it will amuse me. You're so close. You don't want me to stop. You're beyond caring who hears your moans. You're beyond caring who sees you now. You just want to lose yourself in this filth. You just want to cum.

And it happens. As my stream of piss starts to slow down, you cum. You cum humping yourself like a desperate bitch in heat, grunting like a pig. Your pussy gushing over my expensive, leather shoes as your tongue laps up our mixture of piss in the toilet. Your back arching as the throes of your orgasm overtake you, my hand still preventing you from your raising your head, making sure you remember your place.

I zip up, give you one last look of disgust, and kick your pussy, making you spasm as your orgasm subsides. Without saying a word, you hear me leave. You remember your date. He must be wondering where you are now. Your face is still in the toilet. Your tits are sore and bruised. Your clit is throbbing. Your hair and dress are wet. And you have the biggest smile on your face.