by Penny Birch
‘I could get to like this,’ she said, and gave me my third.
It came higher, and harder, really slamming into my poor bum. I cried out in my pain, my legs jerking apart to stretch out my knickers, my bum coming up, just in time to catch the fourth.
‘Watch your feet!’ she ordered, and gave me another, harder still, to make me squeal and dance again, writhing over the clothing bundles with my bottom shaking behind me.
‘Tie me, then,’ I managed, still breathless as I came down from the sudden pain.
She gave a pleased grunt and reached forwards to pull at one of the sacks. The neck closed with string, which I saw a moment before it was twisted around my ankles, and tied off. She wasn’t finished, though. My arms were taken, pulled up behind my back and lashed together, tight, leaving me helpless for my beating. The sacks under my tummy were adjusted, forcing my bum higher, to make my cheeks part and show off the dirty little hole between them. She had a feel, stroking my hot skin and briefly poking a finger into the wet cavity of my vagina, before once more picking up the belt.
I watched, looking back, shaking as she lifted it, her face set in concentration as she took aim. It came down, slamming into my bum. I screamed, bucking in my bonds. Another followed, and a third, in quick succession, until I was panting and gasping, writhing on the sacks, my hot bottom stuck high, my boobs wobbling to the smacks.
It hurt so much, real pain, a good, honest beating, smack after smack of her horrible belt landing across my meat, making me scream and writhe and fart, helpless in my bondage and just as helpless in my pain. Again and again the belt caught my sweet spot, the fat bit where my bum flares over my pussy, where smacks really count. I was going to come, I knew it, and I found myself babbling to her, pleading for it harder, and faster, on that special spot.
She obliged, slamming the belt into my bottom, with all the force of her massive arms, full across the fattest, meatiest part of my bum. Every jolt caught my pussy, getting me closer, and closer still, until at last it hit me. I screamed as I came, really loud, with the belt smacking down on my bum in a furious rhythm, fast and vicious, beating me without mercy, just exactly the way I wanted it.
Mo went right on thrashing me, until at last it was over and I was screaming at her to stop. She did, and I slumped down over the bags, panting hard, my bottom burning, my whole body tingling, sweat running down over my skin.
‘Lovely, thank you,’ I managed. ‘I needed that.’
‘You did,’ she assured me, and began to pull up her trousers.
I waited, assuming she’d tidy herself up, then untie me. Instead she just pulled up her trousers, fastened them and began to open the rear. With the gap wide enough, she poked her head out, then swung a leg over the tailboard.
‘What are you doing?’ I demanded.
‘You think I’m passing you up on a quickie?’ she answered. ‘A live one like you? I’m taking you home, girl.’
‘Hey! No!’
‘What’s the matter? You want more, don’t you?’
‘Yeah, but –’
‘Then cut the crap, you’ll get what you want, in plenty.’
‘All right, but where are we going? And could you untie me?’
‘Back to my accommodation.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘Aldershot.’
‘Well, okay, but I’ve got to get back this evening. Look, you’ll put me on a train or something won’t you? Please could you untie . . .’
‘Shut up,’ she interrupted.
I shut up, sort of. She delved into one of the bags, pulling out first a sock, then a pair of knickers, soiled ones, with a big stain on the crotch and sweat marks where they’d pulled tight to the girl’s pussy and bum-crease.
‘Open your mouth,’ she ordered.
‘No!’ I protested. ‘They’re filthy, and smelly! Whose are they?’
‘Corporal Jane Lewis,’ she read from the label. ‘One of my best.’
‘I don’t care how good she is, I don’t want her dirty knickers in my mou –’
I stopped abruptly, because Mo had pinched my nose and stuffed the panties in my face. I could smell the corporal’s pussy, her sweat too, stale and strong as I struggled to pull away.
I got it done to me, inevitably. I mean, I’d just been given a belting, and she was very much in charge. Despite my struggles my mouth came open in the end, and Jane Lewis’s dirty knickers were forced into my mouth. They tasted horrid, of stale pee and sweat, making me grimace as Mo tied them off with two equally filthy socks.
With me gagged, she didn’t even bother to cover my boobs or bum, but just left me there, lying among the laundry bags with the taste of some stranger’s dirty panties in my mouth. They were really dry too, the cotton soaking up all the moisture in my mouth, forcing me to chew on them to make spit, which made the taste even worse.
The back of the cover was fastened, I felt the jeep rock to Mo’s weight, and we set off, bumping across the field. She drove fast, bumping me about in the back and rolling me to one side or the other with every corner, until I was bruised and dizzy, feeling slightly sick. It seemed to go on for ever too, and all the while I could do nothing but wriggling in my bounds, trying to lessen my discomfort.
It may have hurt, but it really got to me, just being bound, utterly helpless, which nobody can understand unless they’ve had it done to them. My throbbing, belted bottom made it worse, as did the horrid taste in my mouth, and the nagging fear that I’d let myself in for more than I could handle. All that would have been strong, but half stripped, with my top up around my neck and my combats and knickers pulled well down, it was almost too much. I had everything showing, including a well-smacked bottom, and for all I knew we’d have to pass a check point or something, and someone would look in, probably a man. By the time the jeep finally pulled to a stop I was snivelling, close to tears with worry.
There was no check point. When Mo pulled open the flaps I saw that we were in a garage, with the door safely closed. She lifted me out easily and slung me across her shoulder, putting her hand on my bottom to hold me steady. Hanging head down over her back, with one of the laundry bags half over my head, I didn’t see much, only the green stair carpet as she marched up to her bedroom, then the coverlet as I was thrown down.
Mo stood over me, grinning and nodding her head in satisfaction. I looked back, feeling small and scared, but alive with the moment and anticipation of what was to come. She reached down, her fingers going to the knots on the laundry bags. They were pulled open, my ankles, then my wrists. I was stripped, my boots and socks pulled off, my trousers and panties, my top last, leaving me nude. The gag came last, pulled out to leave me to run to the loo, where I did my best to spit out the stale taste. Mo watched me, chuckling.
I needed to pee too, and I sat down as soon as I’d had a glass of water to rinse my mouth out. She didn’t move, and I realised I was going to have to do it in front of her. As I had with the butch girls in the club toilet, I swung round, spreading my thighs to let her watch it come out. I looked at her, and she met my eyes, her strong, hard gaze locked with mine, before moving slowly down, to my bare pussy. I let go, shutting my eyes as the pee spurted from my body, to tinkle into the water beneath me. There was a lot, all the beer I’d drunk at the festival. I was shaking so much that it went everywhere, on the seat, down my thighs too, so that even when I’d finished it was dripping off my pussy-lips and bum-cheeks.
‘I hope you’re going to clean that up?’ Mo said, nodding to the patch on the seat.
I nodded back, my body trembling harder than ever as I got up and turned around. I knew what she meant, exactly. Anyway, I knew what I was going to do. I wiped myself, letting her see, then went down on the cold tiles of the floor, kneeling, my bottom stuck out with my knees set well apart. Out came my tongue, and I looked up, meeting Mo’s eyes as I took hold of the lavatory bowl. She was smiling, cruel, and delighted, as I leaned slowly forwards, to poke my tongue into the little pool of urine. It t
asted a bit acrid, also hormonal, very feminine. Dirty, yes, and arousing, for all that it was such a dirty thing to do, with her looking down on me as I cleaned up my own piddle with my tongue. My head was right over the bowl too, and I could smell myself, really strong.
‘Do you want to see what the slovens get in barracks?’ Mo asked.
‘What do you do?’ I asked.
‘We flush them,’ she said, and snatched out for my hair.
She caught it, twisting hard, and an instant later my head was down the lavatory. I screamed in shock and protest, and struggled, kicking, waving my hands in the air in blind panic. It did no good. My head went in, right in, until my hair was dangling in the mixture of pee and water and loo paper I had made in the bowl. She held me there, ignoring my entreaties and pleas for mercy, her other hand coming behind me, between my bum-cheeks, one thick finger sliding up my pussy, lifting.
I screamed again as my body came up, in surprise and horror. She upended me easily, holding me by my pussy and neck, upside down, my head as far down the lavatory as it would go, touching water, with the smell of my own pee strong in my nose. Her grip changed, clutching me around the waist, with my legs waving frantically in the air, squealing in fright and panic, babbling pleas for mercy.
I was still doing that when she pulled the chain, which was really stupid. It went in my mouth, water, pee, loo paper, everything, up my nose too, roaring around my head, sucking at my hair, even splashing my boobs where they hung upside down over the loo. I lost control, choking as I thrashed in her grip, hitting my head on the china, only to have it stuffed in deeper still, like a loo brush, as the gurgling water subsided around my ears.
She pulled me up, coughing and spluttering, and set me down on the floor. My legs went, and I sat down, hard. I was soaked, my hair drenched in dilute piddle and decorated with bits of soggy loo paper, more running down my breasts and back. I’d swallowed plenty, and my mouth was full of it, running out at the sides as I knelt there, gasping for breath. It was coming out of my nose too, with spittle and mucus running down my face, while I didn’t even dare open my eyes.
I did when I heard Mo chuckle. It was just so wicked. Peering from beneath wet eyelashes, I saw her pull up her top, exposing massive boobs, as big as mine, and firmer, in a bra like a piece of armour plating. That went next, and I’ll swear they didn’t drop more than an inch, real bumpers, with small, regular nipples on top of each, very hard. Her boots followed, unlaced and kicked off, and her trousers, the big blue panties too.
That left her nude, and if she’d been scary dressed, she was terrifying with it all on show. I’d never seen so much muscle on a woman, or on the few men I’d seen naked either, for that matter. She was so hard, every muscle outlined beneath her skin, with her close shaved head and the sergeant’s stripes in her pubes giving that final touch to the image. Just to see her made me shiver with fright as I peered up from under my pee-soaked, dripping fringe. As she stepped towards me I was already sticking my tongue out to lick her sex.
Kneeling, my head barely reached her pussy, and I had to come up a bit. She took my head, pulling me in, only not to her sex, but lower, trapping my head between her huge thighs, clamped tight as her hand twisted hard into my wet hair. I realised what was going to happen an instant before it did.
She pissed on my head, and all over my body, a great torrent of hot, steaming fluid gushing out from her sex onto my crown. It went everywhere, down my arms and back, over my bottom-cheeks, into the crease between them to soil my anus and pussy. Some even went down the front to cascade from my nose, filling my eyes to make them sting crazily, and my mouth, spilling from the edges to splash over my boobs and the floor.
I thought she’d let it finish before she made me lick her, but no, not Mo. Her stream was still coming, hard, when she suddenly changed her grip, jerking my head back and pulling me hard into her crotch. Piddle exploded into my face, more going in my eyes, then up my nose as my mouth was forced to her sex. I couldn’t do it, not without choking, but I tried, lapping and gulping down urine as it sprayed into my face. It took her about five seconds to tire of my pathetic efforts, before she started to use my face to masturbate on, rubbing my nose over her big clitty, up and down, with the pee still gushing out.
It was too much for me, running down my front, hot and wet, over my boobs, to drip from my nipples, down my belly, and over my pussy. That was the final straw, when the warm, wet trickle found its way between the lips of my sex and onto my clitty. I put a hand there, masturbating in her pee as she rubbed my face against her sex, both of us filthy with it, our bodies slick with fluid, soiled and dripping.
I was coming almost before I knew it, thinking of what Mo had done to me. She’d bog-washed me, the term they used at school for sticking a girl’s head down a lavatory, pissed on my head and, last of all, made me lick it up as it sprayed, hot from her pussy. I would have screamed if my mouth hadn’t been full of piddle, and as it was I nearly choked myself, swallowing my mouthful just as my muscles tensed in the most glorious orgasm.
Suddenly I was gagging, my climax breaking, as I went into a frantic coughing fit, sputtering pee all over Mo’s pussy and thighs. She took no notice, none at all, grunting as she came on my face, jerking my head up and down, hard, until it hurt. My nose was bumping over and over against her big clit, piddle still spraying out, my senses swirling in a haze of ecstasy and pain, until at last she was satisfied, and let go of my hair.
I sat back down, indifferent to the wet feel of the pee on the floor as my bottom settled into it. Getting up was beyond me. All I could do was squat there, utterly spent, in a big puddle of pee, with the steam rising from my skin. Mo was made of sterner stuff, and stood back, one leg shaking a little, but her breathing barely faster than it had been before. She was well pleased with herself, though, grinning wickedly as she folded her arms across her chest.
That was just the beginning of our night together. She had leave until noon the next day, and we made the best of it, every minute. I wasn’t allowed to leave, as simple as that. Instead I was made to phone the friends I had said I’d meet and put them off. I didn’t really mind, because I knew that what I was going to get from Mo would be better than anything that was likely to happen in London.
She was rough with me, really rough, and not that worried about whether or not I wanted exactly what she did. That was what made it so good. I never had to ask, not after the first time, when I’d admitted to liking spanking. After that she just assumed that I was a dirty slut, and would soak up whatever she could dish out.
After she’d pissed all over me we showered and she made me clean up, scrubbing the floor with my combat top while she watched. Only when I’d reduced my nice top to a filthy, pee-soaked rag did she start to be less demanding, fixing coffee and biscuits, which we ate as we talked, both still stark naked.
What she wanted to do to me was basically what she couldn’t do to her recruits, but fantasised over. In reality she was cautious, being a lesbian in charge of so many nubile girls, including some pretty young recruits. Even the bit about flushing their heads down the toilet wasn’t true, news which filled me with an odd mixture of relief and regret.
So to make up for her frustration, she made a habit of picking up baby dykes, sometimes for what she called quickies in the back of her jeep, sometimes for more. She seemed to be successful, and with her image I wasn’t surprised. There’s nothing we submissive girlies like more than a big, strong woman to dominate us. She showed me some photos, of various girls in army kit, or some army kit anyway. Some were being made to drill with no tops on, or no bottoms, others nude except for boots.
That was what she liked best, dressing her conquests up and working them into the ground, then pissing on them as they licked her pussy. Spanking them was rarer, although I wasn’t the first. Gagging them with dirty panties was a favourite. She was responsible for the laundry at the camp, which made it easy, with a ready supply of kit, both clean and dirty. She was senior enough t
o get accommodation outside barracks too, shared, but with a housemate who enjoyed bringing more boys home than the army would have approved of.
By the time she’d explained all this to me, and shown me nearly a hundred photos of pretty, half-naked girls being ritually humiliated, I was ready for more. I’d been well spanked, back in the jeep, so that was out, but I was ready to try her drill fantasy. I was thinking of something else as well and, with more mischief than guilt, my Uncle Rupert.
Mo dressed up in something she called her number two dress uniform, a smart khaki outfit complete with sergeant’s stripes and various insignia. Skirt, jacket, shirt, tie, stockings, boots, cap, all of it was immaculate, far neater than anything I’d ever worn, even for a job interview. It made her look older, and very stern – not just a brute, but a calculating, sadistic brute. With her dressed like that, and me still naked, I found myself feeling incredibly small and vulnerable, craving a spanking despite what she’d already done to my poor bottom.
I asked, and got it over her knee, without a stitch, my big bottom visible in a wall mirror, wobbling and bouncing to the smacks. It stung, but I took it until my whole bottom was warm and glowing, pink all over, covered with goosepimples, with the angry belt-marks clear in the middle. I love the sight of myself after a good punishment, or during it, and this was no exception. She took a photo too, with the camera on a tripod and set to automatic. It was nicely posed, looking back with my bum lifted high and the cheeks wide, so it showed my face and my pussy at the same time.
Now fully turned on again, I was given a choice of uniforms, although Mo pointed out that any girl recruit with my figure was going to get given some serious physical training. I retorted that I wasn’t overweight, just voluptuous, and asked how many of her girls could boast a twenty-two-inch waist. She just laughed at me, and told me to hurry up.
