The home that my wife, Barbara, had sold to the millionairess Keisha was a sumptuous mansion, set well back from the road, with high fences and a security gate. It also had a large swimming pool and various more shallow "conversation" and paddling pools.
Barbara drove her massive Bentley Arnage into the area in front of the house. I was seated beside her, naked but for a bright red rubber cape which covered my arms, upper torso down to my buttocks. I looked and felt ridiculous in it, which was, of course, Barbara's intention.
We entered the house, to find Keisha, the beautiful black 36-year-old with the 40 inch bust and her daughter, Alysha, aged 20 and with breasts only an inch or two smaller than her mothers, lying on loungers by the pool, both wearing scandalously brief bikinis.
The two black women planted kisses on Barbara's cheeks and as my wife disrobed to reveal her lovely 35-year-old body clad in an equally scandalous bikini, Keisha smiled at me: "Hi Peeper, that rubber cape must be awfully hot?"
I nodded. "It is, Keisha," I agreed.
"Well then, you'd better keep it on," she laughed, then turned to my wife and asked: "The wine sample, darling?"
Barbara smiled and took a bottle from her equipment bag. "Freshly vinted this morning, darling, so I'm afraid it will need some time to mature!"
"Alysha, take this bottle inside and give it a number, then pour it into the glasses alongside ours. Oh, Barbara, everyone can come except Ro, who's got something she can't get out of, so it's just six of us."
When Alysha returned from the house, she was accompanied by the 25-year-old office junior Carmel, who had proved she had a really fine style of domination during the previous week's piss party at our place. With her was an equally pretty blonde, who was introduced as her sister, Rachel, aged 23. Both were wearing shiny little PVC bikinis.
Rachel's manner of greeting me was to thrust her hand beneath the hem of my cape and stroke my eight and three-quarter inch uncut cock. "Pleased to meet ya, Peeper," she grinned, running a finger inside my foreskin and flicking my piss slit with her nail.
Soon the group was joined by the statuesque Helga, the big-busted woman who, like Barbara, had made millions in commissions through her real estate sales in Beverly Hills.
"Right," said Keisha, when the six dominas were all assembled, "let's go inside and get Peeper here started on his wine tasting!"
And with that they all trooped into the house, leaving me to follow on, sweating and hot in the ridiculous rubber cape.
Inside in the sumptuous lounge, was a coffee table with six large wine glasses containing liquids in varying degrees of yellow – some bright, vivid yellow, some water-like.
The women arranged themselves on a couch behind the coffee table, and Keisha and Alysha settled down in large easy chairs at each end of the couch. Keisha then announced the rules of the wine tasting.
"Right, ladies," she said, "you will notice that each wine glass has a metal tag around the stem with the numbers 1 to 6. Peeper will first drink down about a third of each glass, making comments on the way as to the vintage of the urine, its suitability for bottling, its taste and so on.
"The second tasting will be another third of the glass and this time Peeper will tell us who's urine is in which glass. Alysha will note his selections, which will be compared with the master chart later. The third tasting will drain the glasses and the Peeper will then award bronze, silver and gold medals. There will be prizes for the winners."
Barbara had a question: "What happens if he gets some of the selections wrong?"
Keisha smiled: "If he gets all six wrong, then it's 60 strokes of the lash – 10 for each incorrect answer – plus a penalty of 60 extra strokes. If he gets five wrong, it's 50 strokes, plus a penalty of 50, and so on.
"There's also an added twist to his punishment, which will be obvious as soon as we all assemble in the torture chamber downstairs."
There were murmurs of excited approval from the other five women, then Alysha raised her hand: "He's never tasted Rachel's piss. Isn't it rather unfair to expect him to recognise it?"
A good point, I thought, standing in front of them, still sweating in my ridiculous red rubber cape.
My wife butted in before Keisha could answer: "That's simple, Alysha. Since he's never tasted Rachel's piss it should be the easiest for him to detect – it will be the one he's never experienced before, so he should get her piss identified no problemo!"
"Right," said Keisha, "time he got tasting. OK, Peeper, take a swallow of piss No 1!"
The glass was dark yellow in colour and I gulped down about a third of it. The salty, strong-smelling urine had been slightly chilled and I made what I hoped were the sort of comments wine buffs often come up with.
"An intensely fruity wine," I said. "It's got a lovely rich colour and I'd say it was several days old. This one's a keeper."
The next was in direct contrast. It was almost the colour of water, having a mere trace of urine yellow, which did nothing to detract from the strong taste.
"A cheeky little wine," I observed, "and a recent vintage, I would suggest. Eminently drinkable right now but not without bottling potential."
The women were giggling as I paraded through the wines. One I found "a rich Chardonnay in colour, a lovely big fruity wine". Another I found "a keeper, to be laid down for some days".
This, of course, was all just to amuse the women, who were, at times, "pissing" themselves with laughter at my descriptions, if you'll pardon the phrase, although I think it's somewhat appropriate.
Next came the round I was dreading. The identification. How the fuck was I going to pick which wine belonged to which domina? Sheer guesswork, that's how.
I sampled wine number 1, the deep yellow one. "I think this is Keisha's," I said. The lighter one: "This will be Rachel's." For the third I ventured: "I think this is Helga's." The fourth, the really big, fruity Chardonnay-type, I said: "Alysha's." The fifth, I opted for my wife. And the sixth, therefore, left only Carmel.
"Now pick the medal winners, Peeper," ordered Keisha, after her daughter had jotted down my selections in the "blind" tasting.
The first wine, the deep, rich coloured one, I gave the silver medal. One of the lighter wines – number two – got the bronze, and the supreme award I gave to the fourth wine.
