by Penny Birch
My thumb went to my clit, flicking at the little bud as pee gushed out around it. I started to masturbate, urgently, wanting to come while I was still being treated so rudely, so callously, and wanting to be completely soiled, all over.
‘In my face,’ I begged, ‘and do my boobs.’
‘Black mark. It shuts up,’ he said, but the stream of pee came higher, up my belly again, to my chest, splashing over me as he aimed it at one boob, then the other, leaving them dripping.
My nipples were rock hard, with pee drops hanging from each, the last thing I saw before I shut my eyes tight as he moved higher. His piddle caught my neck and my mouth came open, gaping for it, still masturbating, waiting to come as I was given a mouthful of pee. Then the stream was in my mouth, filling it and running from the sides, splashing from my chin to my breasts, running down over my belly and sides, splashing back over my legs and my arms, my hands as I rubbed frantically at myself, my muscles tensing, coming, in utter, filthy pee-sodden ecstasy . . .
It stopped, just as my orgasm was peaking, breaking it. I opened my eyes in despair, thinking he’d run out, only to find him leaning in close, his cock pinched between finger and thumb. He let go and the full force of his stream burst in my face, exploding over my nose, and up it, in my eyes and my mouth. I tried to swallow, but there was too much and I went into a coughing fit, my eyes stinging crazily, urine spraying out of my nose and bubbling from the sides of my mouth as I struggled to say my stop word, unable to speak or see, choking on his piss.
My head was down, my face out of the stream as I struggled for control. Not that he stopped, but emptied the full six pints’ worth of piddle over me, mostly in my hair. By the time I caught my breath it had died to a trickle, but I was soaked, my mouth still full of it, my hair lank and dripping, plastered to my skin. I’d stopped masturbating when he got it in my eyes, but it didn’t stop him doing the last of it up my pussy, to leave it trickling out of my open hole as I scrabbled for the shower tap.
I found it, deluging myself with freezing water, which I immediately caught up in my hands, splashing it over my face to wash my eyes out. The stinging died, slowly, to become bearable, then just sore and at last I shook my head and looked up, finding Monty stood back, his cock still in his hand.
‘Amber,’ I said. ‘You got it in my eyes.’
‘Black mark,’ he said. ‘It washes its filthy body, cold water.’
He left the room as I cleaned up, wishing I’d come properly while he was doing it up my pussy or in my mouth. The way he was treating me was freaking me out a bit, but physically I had no complaints – after all, I’d asked him to pee in my face, and it was really my fault that I’d got it in my eyes.
The cold shower left me wet and shivering, submissive, but far from sexy. I dried myself, as Monty hadn’t instructed otherwise, and put a towel around my wet hair, returning to the bedroom to find him propped up on the bed. He had his second pint in one hand, his cock in the other, erect again. On the bed was my skin cream. I nodded to him, coming to stand at the end of the bed, my hands folded behind my back, my head hung, ready.
‘It takes the lotion,’ he ordered. ‘It rubs the lotion on its skin. It does it over its tits first.’
I reached down for the cream and unscrewed the cap. My nipples were still hard, and I squeezed out a fat worm of cream on to each, smearing it over my boobs and rubbing it in as he watched.
‘It does its tits well,’ he said, ‘then its stomach and legs, last its cunt bulge.’
I nodded, applying more cream, to my tummy and thighs, my pubic mound, rubbing each bit in until the whole front of my body was glossy with it. It felt good, very sensual, and I wondered why he was being so nice to me. He let me take my time too, creaming myself until I had begun to feel aroused again, enough to want to come. Hoping he’d let me, I began to dab at my pussy, smearing cream between my lips.
‘It stops wanking,’ he said suddenly. ‘It turns round and sticks its arse out.’
I obeyed quickly, equally keen to do it while he wanked over his view of my bum.
‘Black mark,’ he said. ‘Its legs are further apart. Its cunt shows.’
Setting my legs wide, I gave him the view he wanted, the rear of my pussy showing back between my thighs, wide open, with my bumhole on display as well.
‘It creams its arse,’ he said. ‘Round motions, pulling the cheeks apart, then it does its cunt and arsehole.’
I leaned on the wall as I squeezed the tube out over my bum, laying two long worms on my cheeks and a third between them. Reaching back, I began to rub it in, massaging my cheeks and spreading them, letting him see everything, and enjoying both the feel of my bottom and the knowledge of how intimately I was exposed to him. With my cheeks glossy and slick with cream, I poked a finger up my pussy, lubricating the hole, although it certainly didn’t need it. I was soaking, my flesh puffy and slimy, very ready for cock.
‘Black mark,’ he said. ‘It stops wanking. It sticks a finger up its arsehole, right up.’
I hadn’t been wanking, I’d been showing off for him, but I choked my protest back, instead letting my hand slide up higher into my slimy bum crease, finding my hole and smearing cream around the ring, then up, into the hot, moist cavity of my rectum. He’d said right up, so I pushed my finger in, as deep as I could go, until I felt something firm and stopped abruptly.
‘Now it wiggles the finger about inside,’ Monty ordered.
I obeyed, wiggling the finger about up my bottom and trying to ignore the sudden urge to go to the loo. I really needed an enema, if he was going to bugger me, which seemed very likely.
‘It pulls its finger out,’ he said, ‘and turns around.’
Easing my finger out of my bumhole with a long sigh, I stood and turned. My anus felt open and greasy, while it was all slimy between my bumcheeks and pussy lips. His cock was rock hard, the head shiny with pressure, and I knew it was going to be poked into my body before long, and very likely up my bum. I already felt urgent, and it was going to be really messy. I was going to tell him, but he had seen the state of my finger and was leering at me. I stopped myself.
‘It lifts up its hand,’ he said. ‘Not that one, black mark.’
I knew he was going to make me do something really dirty, something disgusting, and I was trembling hard, praying he wouldn’t try and push me beyond where I wanted to go. I knew it would be bad anyway. He was nearly there, his cock-head purple and glossy, his face suffused with blood, leering at me as he wanked over my nude body, over my shame and discomfort. He nodded, then spoke.
‘Now it sucks its shit off its finger.’
‘No, Monty, not like that . . .’
‘It sucks its own shit off its finger. Black mark.’
‘No, please . . .’
‘It sucks its finger, now! The dirty one, bitch!’
My finger was in my mouth. I was sucking, tasting the thick, fetid tang of my own bumhole even as my other hand went to my pussy, clutching at my lips, spreading them. I found my clit, snatching at it, my knees weak as I sank down, thighs wide, wanking furiously as I sucked and sucked at my dirty finger, coming in utter, exquisite ecstasy.
I was still frigging as Monty pulled himself forwards on the bed. He grabbed me, hard, by the hair, jerking me forwards across the bed, bottom up. He scrabbled round, his hands found my thighs, his cock jamming between my bumcheeks, into my pussy. He gave two quick shoves and pulled it out, and up, to my bumhole, pushing. My anus opened with the rudest, dirtiest squelching sound and he was going up, filling my rectum with penis. I felt my gut bulge and every muscle in my body tightened in a second unbearable climax, and again, screaming and writhing on his cock as he buggered me in my own mess.
He came like that, deep up my bottom while I was still in orgasm. At that instant I’d have gladly sucked his cock clean for him, or anything else he demanded, no matter how filthy. Then I was coming down and his cock was pulling from my bumhole, to pop free, and I was running, staggering on weak k
nees in a desperate effort to get to the loo.
Nine
I slept soundly, but woke sore and a little guilty, remembering what we’d done the night before. It had been dirty, very dirty indeed, and having done it under orders was no consolation. I’d wanted it like that, there was no use denying it, especially when I could perfectly well have used my stop word.
The fact that I hadn’t used my stop word reminded me that I was due for a titty whipping. It was going to hurt, but I didn’t mind, as long as Monty left me in peace until I was in the mood. At that moment I wasn’t, and he was still asleep, so I washed and dressed, making a thorough job of my oral hygiene, and slipped downstairs, leaving him to lie.
The landlady gave me a pretty frosty reception, and some peculiar looks as she served me. I ignored her, wondering if she had heard me the night before or if she was always like that. Certainly she’d been the same when I’d visited with Percy, but then I’d screamed my head off on that occasion as well.
I was reading a paper in the lounge by the time Monty came down. He ordered a full English breakfast and finished it in no time, waddling out to the lounge to greet me. We paid and left, Monty complimenting them on their bathroom facilities as he waited for his card, which put me into a fit of juvenile giggles as we walked out of the door.
‘So where to?’ he asked as I started the car.
‘There’s no point in starting back yet,’ I answered. ‘Let’s go down to the coast.’
‘Don’t forget you’re going to get whipped across your knockers. Nine strokes.’
‘Nine!?’
‘Nine, I was counting.’
‘Ouch! OK, but not too hard. You can make it extra humiliating to make up for it, but I warn you, if you do it in a public place and we get caught, I’m going to say you assaulted me.’
‘Still upset over the spanking in the garden, are you?’
‘No, but you shouldn’t have done it. Still, we got away with it, so I’m not going to make it a big deal. It was nice, thanks.’
‘And everything else?’
‘No problem. I’m not sure I liked the ‘‘It’’ game, but what you made me do was good, especially in the shower.’
‘Great, I always wanted to piss up a girl’s cunt.’
‘You really are a filthy bastard! You know that, don’t you?’
‘I like knicker wetting and stuff. I saw a girl piss her shorts once, in the street. She got in such a state over it. I loved it, just watching.’
‘You are unspeakable, Monty!’
‘And you wouldn’t have watched, and enjoyed it?’
‘You know I would, but I’d rather it had been me. I tell you what you’d have enjoyed though. A friend of mine wanted to try colonic hydrotherapy . . .’
‘What?’
‘Colonic hydrotherapy: washing the lower bowel out with water, an enema. It had various benefits, but never mind that . . .’
‘I do mind that. What, like sticking a big syringe up your bum?’
‘You can do it that way. Using a tube is more usual, with the water running in from a bag. Anyway, my friend, Ami, wanted to try this, but she was a bit shy about it and not really sure what to do. So, I offered to show her. First I did it to myself in front of her, which was wonderful, but not as good as doing it to her. She’s really cute, with these big, owlish glasses, and she looked so sweet, with the tube up her bum.’
‘And you call me filthy!’
‘There’s more. She got so turned on by it that we ended up having sex, and she’d never had a girl before! Good, eh?’
‘Excellent! So, this colonic whatsit business. Lots of girls do it, do they, and get off on it?’
‘Not just women, men too. As for getting off on it, I don’t know. Apparently it can become a substitute for sex, like a fetish, but generally it’s seen as a health thing, both mental and physical.’
‘Sounds like an excuse for being pervy.’
‘Not always. For instance, some homeopaths prescribe coffee enemas for liver problems, and red wine enemas for heart disease.’
‘You’re joking?’
‘I’m serious.’
‘Fuck me. Weird. I bet some old pervo thought the whole thing up, years ago, just so he could stick tubes up girls’ bums.’
‘People have been doing it for centuries, millennia. I think the Romans used to do it a lot, or maybe the Greeks.’
‘OK, so some Roman or Greek pervo. What’s the difference?’
‘Not a lot, I suppose. So tell me about the girl in the street?’
‘It was ages ago, when I still lived with my parents, in Merton. She’d been running, I think, or doing something sporty. Anyway, she was wearing these tight shorts, stretchy, so they really showed off her bum, which was quite big and really firm, muscley. She was hurrying, running a little, then walking. I was behind her, admiring the view, when she tripped on an uneven paving stone. She went down, right, and as she did some piss must have come out, because I saw the wet patch around her bumcheeks. She hurried on, and I knew she was desperate, so I followed. I’m sure she knew too, because she kept glancing back, giving me these really dirty looks. She was squeezing her thighs together too, in a real state, and when she got to a corner she saw this pub and started to run. She got there, but it had just shut. She was really panicking, hammering on the door and looking at her watch, with her knees really tight together. When I caught up with her I saw the look on her face, totally fed up, like really cross and really uncomfortable, and then she just let it go, in her shorts. I saw everything, right in front of me, with the piss dripping down her legs and making a big wet patch over her fat arse and up her cunt lips.’
‘The poor thing! And I’ll bet you wanked yourself silly.’
‘Sure, and don’t tell me you wouldn’t have done.’
‘I’d have helped her.’
‘Yeah, right out of her knickers.’
‘No. Well, maybe later.’
He answered with a short, barking laugh. He had spread the map out on his lap, and paused to study it, suggesting I turn left across the face of the downs at the next junction. It seemed as good a choice as any, and I took it, quickly finding myself in winding lanes between chalky banks and through beechwoods. We kept talking, swapping dirty stories as we went, turn and turn about. Monty’s were almost all voyeuristic, and some of them were absolutely outrageous.
For the best part of two hours we drove east along the South Downs, until our conversation had done its work and I was wondering if it wasn’t time to take my titty whipping. Monty seemed relaxed, aside from the occasional bit of nerves at my driving, but more than once I’d noticed him giving his crotch a sneaky squeeze, and I was sure his trousers were hiding a full erection.
‘It could be time for my punishment, if you like,’ I suggested.
‘Stop somewhere then.’
‘Not here, the woods are too open, and you’re not doing me on a footpath.’
‘I should. I’d love to do it so that some really stuffy people saw, like the couple in the hotel.’
‘You nearly did. No, not so risky.’
‘You love it.’
‘Maybe, but that’s not the point.’
‘Chicken. After all, I’m the one who’d get into the real trouble.’
‘Find somewhere private and you can do it. You can even tie my hands if it turns you on. I think I can trust you enough now.’
He grunted in answer and went back to studying the map, quickly telling me to turn right. When I reached the junction it proved to be no more than a track, leading deeper into the downs.
‘Here?’ I asked.
‘I’ve got a possible place. It says ‘‘Quarry – disused’’.’
‘You think so?’
‘It’s worth a try. I want those knockers out, now.’
‘What, now?’
It seemed safe, within the car, and I did feel like showing off, so I slowed at the corner, quickly pulling up my top, my bra with it, to let my bare breast
s loll out. Monty nodded in approval and gave his crotch another squeeze. We drove up to the quarry, my excitement rising simply from being bare breasted, and under his orders.
The quarry was certainly disused, a bowl shape cut into the hillside with ancient rusting gates swinging on their hinges. There were tyre tracks, but no other sign of activity, and I parked, pulling the car into the shade of a tall hedge. It seemed sensible to take a look round, but as I made to pull my top down over my boobs Monty reached out to stop me.
‘Uh, uh,’ he ordered, ‘keep them bare.’
‘What if somebody’s there?’
‘They get to see my bitch’s tits. I don’t care. Maybe I’ll make you suck them off, even let them fuck you.’
‘You would too, wouldn’t you.’
‘You know it. Now, come on, out of the car.’
I opened my door, feeling thrilled but a little unsure of myself. There was no sign of anyone, only birdsong and the buzz of insects. Scrambling quickly from the car, I ran for the quarry gates, clutching my bare boobs in my hands. Monty laughed, following with a last glance back down the track.
It was impossible not to be nervous, even inside the quarry gates. The tyre tracks looked quite recent, suggesting joyriders, as the quarry certainly wasn’t in use. If they came back while we were playing I stood a pretty good chance of getting gang-banged, and I could be absolutely certain that Monty wouldn’t be able to control the situation.
Inside the quarry it was hot, and very still, with the off-white walls of chalk reflecting back the sunlight and sheltering us from what little breeze there was. At the centre was a shallow pool, the water absolutely still within a ring of cracked white mud. Two cars stood in it, wheelless and sunk to their axles, both burned out. Beyond stood a third, unburned but a wreck, with the windows smashed and the bonnet torn off, with the single word, cunt sprayed on one side in silver paint. The evidence of the sort of person who’d been there increased my nervousness, but Monty seemed unaffected, with his hands stuck in his pockets as he looked around.
