Filthier than any toilet, and wetter too

Funny how first times are always a surprise. I always knew my first enema would be a big humiliation. I hadn't expected that it would be made of pure hot piss.

Master blindfolded me first, then told me to lie face down. I could feel a towel underneath me, and started to feel anxious - obviously whatever he was doing, it was going to be messy. He pulled my cheeks apart, and I thought how nice it is to feel unashamed while someone looks straight into your ass. Then he began to shove something into it, and the feeling changed. It was big, and unlubed except for the wetness he collected from my cunt. I moaned and tried to fight the urge to tense up - if he wanted it in there, it was going in, and I knew it.

He pulled it out and said, "a good effort." A relief to hear.

The second time it went in, it was lubed, but still a struggle. I realised it was a big plug... and remembered when he returned from his last trip interstate. He had done some shopping. There was one item he'd bought that still had not been used. A large black plug, with a tube attached... and at the other end, a funnel...

As he fucked my ass with it, he asked me if I knew what was coming, and I told him my guess. He told me to reach back and hold the plug in place so it wouldn't move, and I heard him stand and remove his jeans....

The sensation was subtle, so that I wasn't even sure it was real at first. It felt as though the rubber toy inside my ass was somehow swelling.... but in a very gentle way.... lazily.... it was only when he let a few warm drops flick onto my back that I was sure it wasn't just my imagination... yes, he was filling my asshole with his piss. A lot of piss.

He laid on top of me and fucked me while I moaned, full and wriggling. He shoved the plug firmly into my mouth, making me taste the sweet lube and my fetid shit. The discomfort was visceral, and the thought of dirtying him, horrifying. He ordered me to come, and I had the most restrained orgasm I could manage, feeling the liquid mix dribbling over my cunt. He withdrew and smeared it into me - there. I was his filthy slut, soiled with piss, cum, and feaces.
(Thank you, Sir.)

I had thought it was over, but the hardest and most humiliating part was just beginning. I stood in the shower and whimpered as I realised what I was about to do. Master stood in the doorway looking bemused as I struggled through my dilemma - I couldn't hold it in for good. But letting it out was unbearable. The horror and humiliation as I released that stinking mess from my body - and with him watching - was awful and inescapable. I covered my face with my hands and groaned with shame, and pain from my overstretched hole. I was a disgrace, and I deserved it.

Yes, Doctor.... (visit 2)

I hadn't thought Master would want me to return, which was naive of me, really. Of course he did. It was an excellent chance to further my humiliation.

This time, I was dressed in another skirt, with knee-high boots and a carefully prepared cleavage presenting itself. I had to look like an invitation. Master had been sure to take the time to give me a short fuck that morning, but not to let me come. He wanted me to be wet and open enough for my scent to travel and be noticed. I could barely sit still from nerves and slippery arousal.

It took a little longer for my name to be called this time. I sat opposite the doctor expectantly, as he asked again "What can I do for you?"

"Um.. last week you told me, if I wanted the results of the test, to come back this week... I had a pap smear..."

Recognition hit his face and he turned away towards his computer while my face went red. This was not going to be easy, but Master had made very sure I knew my script. There was a recorder in my bag silently reminding me that I had no choice to abandon my task - Master would listen to the evidence later.

The doctor explained the results and filled out his paperwork routinely. We were almost done, and I had to speak now...

"Um, may I ask a question?" An easy way to start. And an easy way to make sure I had to continue. There was no backing out now.

The Fantasy....

"Yes?"
"Do many women like it?"
He looked curious. "Like what?"
"Having a pap smear."
He paused and looked me over, judging my sincerity, "Why do you ask?"
"Well, because I do. I like it a lot. I'd do it every week if I could."
He smiled and moved towards me, and suggested "Well, there are many health checks a woman should have on a regular basis."
My pussy twitched, "Oh? What would you reccommend, Doctor?"
He gestured toward the examination table. "Why don't you lie down and we can do something a little more thorough. I don't think we'll need the nurse this time, do you?"


..... The Reality:

"Yes?"
"Do many women like it?"
He frowned. "Like what?"
"Having a pap smear."
He looked horrifed, and snapped, "I should think not!"
My face burned with shame and intense humiliation. This was horrible. And fuck, I was wet.
The doctor took a breath. "Is that a problem?" he asked.
"Um, no. It's just that...." oh Sir, do I really have to...?
"Yes?"
"Well, I do. I would do it every week if I could." There. It was done.
"Well." He seemed disgusted and clearly did not approve. "Most find it embarassing."

I was dismissed. I had completed the most humiliating task Sir has set for me so far. I hated it. And yet, according to my soaking thighs, I loved it, too.

I hoped never to show my face there again. And I know, that doesn't matter. As Master said, there are plenty of doctors in this city. Its only a matter of time before I'm due to see another one.

Yes, Doctor.... (visit 1)

I sat in the surgery waiting room wearing a skirt, a fitted top, and a nervous smile. When I squeezed my thighs together I could feel the dampness between them, building up in anticipation of my time in the doctor's office. Anxiety and excitement made my breathing heavy. I was ready and eager, to show myself a slut and make my Master pleased.

My name was called quickly, and I followed the doctor inside to his private room. I was quickly becoming more and more excited. He asked "What can I do for you?" I took a deep breath. I hoped my voice didn't sound too shy as I asked for a pap test. The doctor smiled back, and said, "I'll just go and get the nurse."

It really is a pity so many doctors are so cautious these days.

The nurse was a nasty-looking woman, late fifties, with a grim manner. She invited me behind the curtain to the examination table and told me to take off my skirt, "and your knickers..." she began, but then stopped as she realised I had none. I climbed onto the table perhaps too eagerly, and she frowned while she told me to lie with my knees up and my feet close to my body. She placed an arbitrary cotton sheet over my lower half, and parted the curtain to tell the doctor I was ready.

Here was the part I was waiting for. I was sure my wetness must be flowing onto the table by now, as the doctor walked over, pulling on the latex gloves. He stood behind me for a moment, and I turned my head but couldn't see, until he walked back towards my feet, plastic speculum in hand. I could see the lubricant smeared on it and smiled, thinking, that was unnecessary, but would no doubt feel good.

He lifted the sheet and gently pushed my knees apart, instructing, "as wide as you can." There was no problem there. I spread my knees and showed him my open cunt. I could almost feel him looking at it. I was soaked - and there was no question he could see that and smell it. I wondered if he was noting my yawning lips and swollen clit, clear evidence of my arousal. Without speaking, my body was saying to him, I am a slut, and I love to be exposed.

The nurse was not watching. I tightened my muscles and prepared for my task. Master had been very clear: you are going to come, he'd said, and I want there to be no doubt at all in the doctor's mind.

He didn't touch me, just pushed the slippery plastic smoothly into my open hole. Oh, yes... my muscles clamped around it, my hips shifted, and as I let go, my body shook. I exhaled and let out a soft moan, my hips twitching, begging for more touching that would not come. I panted and flexed, slowing down as my orgasm completed. There. I watched his face. He had paused, but did not look up. The nurse still faced away.

Flushed, I laid there while the doctor warned, "No moving now," and finished what he had thought he was there to do. He collected the sample and cleaned up quickly and professionally, and I stayed still, feeling unfinished and ignored. I wondered, was I too quiet? No, surely that was quite clear. The nurse passed me a towel and left me to get dressed.

Sitting in front of the doctor again, I felt myself blushing, wondering if I would be questioned, feeling like a naughty child waiting to be chastised. Instead, he was all business as he asked, "Is that all you were wanting today?"

Um. "Yes, thank you."

"Ok. Take this through to the pathology desk on your way out." He looked at me again, and added, "If you actually wanted the results, you can come back next week."

If I wanted them. He was aware that wasn't my main concern. I left feeling both happy and horribly ashamed. I could tell Sir I had completed my homework task.

Bitch

It was a couple of months ago now, that Master’s dog last pissed on the carpet. After kicking him out, he grabbed my hair, and, while fucking me from behind, shoved my head towards the stinking wet patch on the floor. He said “I want to hear you sniff it!” and I tried, but not well enough – it was repulsive. Master ordered me again, “Sniff it! I want to hear you sniffing like a dog!” He was holding me roughly and pushed my face right into it. I was revolted by the smell and wanted to pull away, and I whimpered at first, but had to try to please him. I started to sniff loudly and quickly, a sort of panting through my nose. He held me there and fucked me and rubbed my face harder into the dog’s piss on the floor, forcing me to inhale its scent. It was bitter and concentrated, and with my eyes clenched shut, my hair spilling over my face, and a cock throbbing in my cunt, the animal smell and the sound of myself huffing like a canine took me somewhere primitive inside my mind… I lost self-consciousness and dignity, and for a short while I could truly believe I was not human.

It seems to be the latest direction Master is taking me in my training: to become a bitch. And it suits me well. I have always felt there was something beautifully simple and purifying about animal-training, but the common choices seem somewhat absurd. A Dom I met a long time ago once said he’d like to train me as a cat, but in all honesty I think there is nothing cat-like about me. Puppies are far too innocent and cute, it would feel ridiculous. Yes, I am more like a bitch. Bitches are dirty and unashamed. A bitch is wanton and yet vulnerable. A bitch is there to please, to be used as a hole, and sometimes, to breed. I am definitely a bitch.

The other night it was a nice surprise, when Master showed me what he had me doing. He had placed something over my head and was taking photos while I posed on all fours, not knowing what this was about. Until he showed me the pic on the camera, and I realised what was over my face: a leather dog mask. I was posing as a bitch.

As a bitch, .... I am to spend nights on the floor, and eventually, outside in a pen or kennel. I may one day be replaced in my human position by another woman, one who will slut by my Master’s side and treat me as the animal that I am. Worth less even than Master’s ‘real’ dog. A situation so awful and yet so attractive…

If Master does indeed progress with teaching me in this vein, I know I will be challenged. But also rewarded. I do long to be taught new ways to please him, and if this is what he wants of me, I will learn to be the best bitch I can be. Woof.

A good toilet

Two years ago, I was in a hotel room, exhausted and recovering from the first of many gangbangs my new Master would have me available for. He dismissed me to shower while he showed out the last of the guests, then entered the bathroom where I stood - wet, exposed and trembling. He ordered me to sit down and open my legs, and I did as he asked with trepidation. He said "spread your lips" and I held them - swollen, overused, and open - and I knew. I briefly shut my eyes, then looked down to watch the first stream of his piss touch my skin, spraying my cunt. He emptied his cock onto me and I waited, accepting it, until he appeared satisfied, and told me to resume my washing. That was my first golden shower.

Last night, I laid down on Master's floor, and positioned a large funnel in my mouth. When he urinated into it, I didn't choke, and I didn't gag, I just swallowed. I concentrated on keeping the pace it went down my throat fast enough so it wouldn't spill, and I didn't stop until I sucked nothing but air through the tube. Afterwards, he told me he was pleased, that I had become a good toilet, and I felt proud.

When he asked how it felt, I delved deep and answered that it felt dirty, humiliating, and submissive - and that I felt happy to have pleased him. But what surprised me that I couldn't put into words was that I felt so little at all. That is, I felt a little of all those things, but mostly there was a sense of normality about the whole experience. Of course I would swallow his piss. Of course I would be his toilet. Those thoughts came well before any sense of it being degrading in any way at all. I remember a similar feeling two years ago: testing myself in my mind, replaying the scene, thinking: he PISSED on me... waiting for a reaction, and hardly finding one at all.

Yes, of course I will drink piss from my Master. If it pleases him, it is right. I thanked him last night for training me in this way - his content little piss slut. And of course, I know it doesn't stop there....

A welcome gift

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Whore

Watched The Libertine tonight, and as with all period-movies, I end up thinking, if I was alive back then, I’d be queen of the whores. I can never quite decide if I’d be the most notorious, sought-after, expensive whore, or the dirtiest, most shamed, most used whore around. Maybe both. The women would hate me, and I would shock them by inviting them in. No man would see me as anything more than an object.

I often fantasise about it somehow being public knowledge that I am a slut to be used. I imagine having some kind of sign, or notoriety, that means every adult I meet instantly knows they may have me. I imagine the humiliation of seeing that smirk on peoples faces everywhere I go. I imagine having no choice but to dutifully comply if anyone, anywhere, tells me to kneel and open my mouth. In line at the grocery store, with strangers pausing to snigger at me as they walk past. Or the waiter at the café turning the tables on me if I say that my coffee is cold. No need to be discrete if everyone there knows who I am.

The night I’ve spent with Master that most often returns to my fantasies, was a little bit like this. I was dressed in nothing but a collar, while a group of his acquaintances came by to drink and play cards. It was never spoken to me, but it was clear what I was there for. All of them treated me like a slave and a slut. I don’t think anyone played cards, lol. While not everything went perfectly, that night is still vivid in my mind as a very fulfilling experience. I was exactly who I’d always wanted to be.

A warm shower

I'm embarassed to say it, but I have a shy bladder. There's no point hiding, it became obvious months ago when I went into Master's bathroom while a guest was at the sink, and I just couldn't go.

It started a few years ago when I realised that, at work, if my boss walked into the toilets after me, I had to wait until she was gone before I could urinate. It wasn't a problem if it was anyone else in the cubicle next to me, only the manager. It was the power difference that made me too tense. I would try closing my eyes, counting backwards from one hundred, even just pressing on my bladder as hard as I could, but no matter how full, not a drop would come out. Eventually I would hear her shoes tapping their way across the tiles, and the instant the door closed behind her: relief.

At the time I thought it was embarassing but kind of amusing. Now its a real dilemma. Master wants me to learn to piss at his command - and if there was a gap of power between me and my ex-boss, there's light years between Master and I. I genuinely want to be able to do it - there are so many ways he can use it to humiliate me if I am able to wet myself for him. Not to mention the principle of it: I have no right to keep anything private from him, body functions included. I want to comply, so why can't I get my body to cooperate?

I got to his house last night really needing to go. I had even considered pulling over on the side of the road on the way there, thats how badly I had to piss. (Which is another interesting question, why can I go in a public place, in the open air, with the risk of being seen, but not in a private room if Master is there?) So I got to his house, stripped as usual, and asked permission to use the toilet. Instead, he took me to the shower, made me squat, and stood there watching. And of course, I couldn't do it.

In the end, it was him who pissed - sprayed it over my body, then made me kneel in it and lick some of it up. One day, I'll be able to drink it straight from his body without gagging. Why? To please him. His toilet slave.

The beholder

I'm going to tell you a story that begins with two young girls, around 8 years old. One would later come to be known as nadi, we will call the other one Juanita. They met at school and quickly became "best friends". Juanita and nadi went everywhere together. They were very close. Had the girls been a few years older, their parents may have wondered if they were too close, but instead they felt pleased that Juanita, shy and from a non-english-speaking background, had made a friend. And nadi was a very loyal friend, who would do anything for her, because nadi liked it that Juanita would often hold her hand. She liked it that after a while, Juanita began kissing her mouth, intially as a greeting, later just because she wanted to. Most of all nadi liked sleepovers at Juanita's house, where they would share her bed and sleep in each other's arms. But after a year together, Juanita's family decided to move away from the city. The girls promised each other they would write, and for a while they did, but gradually less frequently, and then not at all.

Cut to 11 years later, and nadi, aged 19, is sitting waiting for her first psych lecture for the year to begin. She looks up and stops breathing at the sight of the most beautiful girl she has ever laid eyes on walking into the lecture room. Literally stops breathing. She can't think, only stare with her mouth open and her heart pounding. The other two hundred or so people in the lecture suddenly disappear, and nadi can hear nothing but her blood rushing through her head, and see nothing but the girl's perfect tanned skin, thick black hair, wide brown almond eyes and soft, slightly-smiling lips. Throughout the lecture nadi barely hears a thing, uncomfortable and breathing heavily as her eyes keep trailing back to a human being so perfect, that nadi can hardly understand how the whole room isn't staring at her. After the lecture, the perfect-girl is in nadi's tutorial class. The roll is called to check that everyone is there. As their names are called, nadi and Juanita finally recognise each other.

This happened around the time when I was only just beginning to accept that I really did like girls as much as guys, just as I'd been afraid of during my teenage years. The intense attraction I felt to the rediscovered Juanita was the confirmation I needed that it wasn't ever going to go away - I am bisexual and would have to learn to live with (and eventually love) that. Unfortunately my lust for her remained frustrated - I learned, in class discussion, that Juanita was now engaged and held very conservative values about love and sex. And as if this wasn't enough, I felt so overcome with Juanita that I was barely able to speak to her. I would struggle to breathe, become very shy, forget words, and generally become a complete idiot in her presence. Every attempt to speak to Juanita was a painful humiliation, and I spent the whole year alternately avoiding, and then obsessively drawn to her. Finally, our lives took us in different directions once again.

Not that surpising, then, that among the multitude of women I am attracted to, there is a certain type that leaves me so struck with awe that I just can't bear it. Generally I am sexually confident, and comfortable approaching someone. But if its a good looking girl with tanned skin, brown eyes and long dark hair, I lose it - too close to my perfect woman for me to feel secure. I have never been able to bring myself close enough to one of my Perfect Juanita-Girls to have the chance to touch them. Speaking to them is sometimes a possibility, but even then, shyness takes me. Managing to hold a conversation with a PJ-G without making a fool of myself is cause for self-congratulation. Any more than that happens only in my dreams and fantasies.

Imagine my desire, then, when last night at a party, our PJ-G hostess happened to be kneeling directly in front of me, while her partner and Master did things that left her semi-conscious with ecstasy. I watched her roll her head back, her eyes closed, and her face a picture of pure blissful submission. Imagine my increasing craving to just reach out and touch her, kiss her, hold her, worship her... And then imagine my longing suddenly become twice as intense as her Master exposed one of her breasts, and directed another sub girl to suck on the nipple. I became hot and tense with jealousy and felt I was going to collapse with desire. My own Master, of course, was well aware of my reaction, and called me on it with his usual blunt accuracy that makes me feel hot and ashamed.

Imagine next, my horror as Master instructs me to kneel in front of PJ-Gs Master and tell him directly what I felt. I tried for a second to tell myself he wasn't serious, he wasn't really going to make me do this. But he was completely serious. He guided me to the spot on the floor, and I felt even more afraid as I realised PJ-Gs M had noticed I was expected to say something to him, and was looking at me, waiting. I hesitated, took a deep breath and looked down. I started to speak quietly, then cut off mid sentence as I realised that PJ-G herself was also sitting there, listening, and staring at me with a soft smile. Even more humiliated, I slowly managed to voice each word, unable to look her or him in the eye. When I was finally finished and looked up, PJ-Gs M looked amused. He suggested I sit in front of her, which I did, shaking. She came forward towards me, and reached out, taking my hand. Her skin was even more soft and perfectly smooth than in my dreams. She encouraged me, and I touched her face, hair, neck, and what I could bring myself to of her body. I told her she was so beautiful. I gathered the courage to ask her if I could kiss her, and she said yes. The result was an almost perfectly still, gentle press of her lips against mine, unable to believe it was happening, immobolised in awe.

The humiliation continued, with the two Masters continuing to taunt me through the night, and I think I overheard PJ-Gs M saying he had known since I first met them. But as much as I felt hot shame at having such secret, "forbidden" desires exposed in a room full of people and to PJ-G herself, I was also lighter, at peace, having touched her, and now knowing that she would not reject me. My greatest and most difficult humiliation so far has been an unexpected, amazing gift.

Other results of last night's party...

But I've written enough...

A feminist would be horrified...

I love when I look at his msn window and see that he is displaying a photo of me - being used, by men, women, or both, or restrained and waiting for his touch, or strike. It is true that a part of it is simply exhibitionism - I can't deny that I get enjoyment out of exposing myself to others. But what I feel specifically when I am exposed by him is more a kind of objectification - not in the sense of being made into a literal object, but something that is more a specific type of humilition, in the sense that I am made to feel I am more "thing" than person. When he displays my photo, I feel humiliated in the most pleasurable way, from the knowledge that he can show me to whom he likes, as his possession. And along with that is the expectation that they will not look at me as a person with needs and desires, but as an object there to be used.

Some of my biggest childhood fantasies were of being touched, grabbed, and groped by uninvited strangers. In my imagination I would be minding my own business when someone would approach and slip their hand under my skirt or into my top. My protests didn't phase these characters, they didn't care what I wanted or about anything I said - they just saw me as a collection of body parts for their entertainment. And today the fantasy continues, though now incorporating Master's ownership of me as part of the theme. I am less human and more an object because I am his property. He can choose to expose me, or allow someone to use me. If he tells someone they may fuck me, then they may, and what I think is irrelevant. In a way I feel freed of myself, to become nothing but a plaything, without an identity, without feelings or thoughts of my own - less, even, than a slut.

....I'm finishing this prematurely due to sheer exhaustion, after a long and very exciting, humiliating-objectifying evening yesterday. I can't think straight, or remember all of what I wanted to say... but I will add one more thing: Thank you, Sir :)