Chapter 3

... My captivated eyes followed Jax as he came around the table and strutted out onto ‘the floor.’ He was carrying himself with an annoying amount of confidence for someone so puny and haggard; I couldn’t help but wonder why Master even invited him here in the first place. He’d said it was a reward for ‘high sales’ but that was hardly a reason for such a lofty honorarium in my opinion. Needless to say, however, I held my tongue and continued to bare witness as the undeserving walked into position, opened his zipper, and whipped out his rock hard cock right in front of The Red Slave’s wide-open mouth.

“You want this piss, baby?” He asked, releasing a long yellow stream that made a harsh gargling echo as it began collecting in the girl’s mouth. “Yeah you like that don’t you? Swallow it!” He ordered, and she did, her nose wrinkling as the young man then guided his cock upward, pissing along toward her forehead and back down her nose.

“Come piss on this bitch too,” Master Patsy commanded, using the tip of the cane to tickle The Blonde Slave’s clit as he ordered Jax about. “Come piss right on her greedy fuckin’ cunt.”

Jax obeyed at once, never ceasing in his urination as he took a single step to the side and guided his cock toward The Blonde Slave, letting his stream flow directly on her spread open pussy lips; yellow filth mixing with translucent slick.

The Blonde Slave cooed her approval, her back arching in what I could only imagine was monumental bliss. The delicate kiss of the cane must’ve been beyond disorienting to both flesh and mind as Master Patsy had a very precise hand: he knew exactly how to deliver both pain and pleasure (whatever he saw fit) with nothing more than a flick of the wrist. That pleasure combined with the humiliating ritual of being urinated on, well, this would be a cocktail of shame and elation that no sex-slave would ever have the hope to resist.

And I spoke from personal experience...

... Master had taken to pissing on me during our journey as one. More so when I was new to him and he was still breaking me in. In our world it was a common practice in slave/master culture, it was socially acceptable here, so, there were hundreds of instances where I would spread my legs and mewl my approval as Master pissed on my face and down my belly, his heavy stream always ending up at my pussy and offering the most delicate and satisfying pressure. It was one thing to be pissed on, it was another to be pissed on strategically until you loved it, pairing the shame of such a demeaning act with your own debased lust. Master had christened me entirely ’His’ on the day he could make me cum by simply emptying his bladder onto my clit—and I came hard for my master that day, with my cunt soaked in his piss and a proud smile on my panting lips...

“ ... Jesus fucking christ, I can’t believe you bitches were trained in The Pits,” Master Patsy snarled contemptuously, breaking me out of my yellow reverie. “What do you say when a man pisses all over your filthy fucking holes?”

“Thank you, Sir!” The slaves cried in unison as Jax alternated his stream between The Red Slave’s face and The Blonde Slave’s slit.

“Don’t mention it ladies,” Jax chided with an arrogant grin before speaking to Mr. Hollow. “Tap in here, D,” he requested as the final dregs of his urine trickled out onto The Red Slave’s tongue. “I’m out.”

And as I watched Mr. Hollow whip out his nine-inch cock, the beautiful ebony appendage like a solid branch in it’s ultimate width, he began to urinate on The Blonde Slave’s clit. So much liquid spilled from such a large vessel and the girl moaned through the new overload of sensation, humping the air in celebration of such crude excess.

My pussy had been ‘excited’ ever since I’d pleasured Master with my mouth earlier that evening and my ‘excitement’ had only gotten worse since Master Patsy had arrived with his new toys. Each brutality and humiliating ritual witnessed or participated in had only stirred my arousal to desperate want. My body had been vexed into chaos by the vicarious shame. What I felt was a very particular brand of humiliation that was exclusive to being an owned and obedient fuck-slave, an intoxicating sort of shame that saturated every demeaning act foisted upon us; until abasement itself was the sole source of our craving. That shame had been tethered to my arousal ever since I was old enough to even know what arousal was. And, so, as I watched those two young slaves being pissed on, being humiliated, used, my conditioning had been activated and I became overwhelmed by the waves of desire that had grown all too ferocious inside me.

I then tugged on Master’s pant leg, making my eyes as sweet and pleading as I possibly could. “Master, if I’m super suuuuper careful to make sure nobody sees your pussy, can I please play with myself a little bit? Pretty please?” I asked as my heart tripled in speed, because deep down I knew my hope was destined for a horrific plummet into disappointment.

“Not now, Babydoll,” he rebuffed softly, fulfilling my prophecy. “Just relax and enjoy the show.”

I couldn’t help but pout, my displeasure manifest in an immediate slump of my shoulders and a little frown tugging my lips. I turned my disappointed gaze back to the scene on the floor, an action with severe consequences because what met my eyes only made me all the more ravenous.