P is Fun. (But is Pee better?)

Yes. I was. I was going to write a blogpost about pee. Because for a long time (and perhaps sometimes still) I had a fantasy/fetish about being peed upon. It’s gross, and it’s hot. It’s nasty, and it’s degrading…and it’s hot.

But I can’t truly get past the whole “piss in the mouth” thing. That, my friends, is a fetish killer for me. It’s not for others, so this is NOT a judgement, it just hits my own “squick factor” button. If I am watching a clip of piss play it turns me on. If it develops into piss drinking or piss in the mouth, *click*, I’m done. Maybe it’s because I’m the mom of boys, but whatever is the baseline, it’s just so not my thing.

So today’s P word can’t be piss, no matter how hot it is (clever double-entendre notwithstanding!).

I ponder some more, throwing P-words through my head like flash cards. Putrid. (uhm. No.) Pink. Labia. Still, no.) Push. Pull. Pucker. n…ow wait a second.

There’s  a word I can get behind. Pucker.

Pucker up for a kiss.

And yanno what else?

Your butt has a pucker too.

*laughs naughtily*

Yeah, yeah, so does mine but we’re talking about your butt here, not mine. That funny little puckery target. The dark-ringed tunnel of depravity. The bung-hole of unearthly delights. The perverted dipping well.

Oh baby fuck that ass!

Yes. I’m not a fan of anal. I know, it sounds like plausible deniability, doesn’t it?

She hates it unless she’s gettin’ it.

Yes. It’s true. I do.

But we’re talking about your asshole.  Remember? How vulnerable does it feel just now, now that I’ve drawn your attention to the susceptibility of that tight sphincter? Are you tightening up your thighs, your cheeks? Shifting a little bit in your chair? You are, aren’t you?!  I’m sure you’re sitting there feeling all protected. Your butt cheeks tightly clenched, protecting that dark rosebud of nefarious pleasures. But you know how easily accessed that spot is when you’ve been grabbed by a hunk of hair, thrown over a chair arm, the back of the couch, a bed, your pants yanked down roughly. No, your tightly clenched muscles are no match for the one who is planning on taking that ass, on lubing that passage with a quick spit of saliva, and a satisfying hard thrust to plunge, bowels deep, into your gut.

It’s not all that different from needing to take a dump, is it? (I told you. I live with boys!)

Oh, nothing really can match the feeling you have when you take a really satisfying poop, right? That fullness, semi-painful, followed by that sensual pleasure as it slips out of you, as your anus closes tight after stretching so far. So far.

It felt good.

It does feel good.

The in and out of fucking that tight hole? Well, it too feels good. There are so many sensitivity points along that quivery, muscular tube. Tied up in the physical feeling is the emotional: that feeling of being violated, of being forces, taken and filled in a dark and perverted way. The feeling of being obscenely stretched, of being used, fully. Then too, there are his groans, ones of pleasure. He has captured and taken his victory over you. His groans are the culmination of the pleasure of the hunt, and the pleasure of your hot, tight asshole. You know that while you’re struggling, your rectal ring is milking his cock, a tight band like a small fist around his shaft as he pumps into your so-very-tight hole. It’s an amazing sensation. It hurts, and yet when the rubbing gets intense, as he’s raping your asshole frantically, the spark ignites within your yearning pussy. It’s weeping for his cock, wanting to be full of him, waiting to be pounded into oblivion, but that thick man-meat is not thinking wet cunt, it’s thinking hot, tight ass.

As you come, as your empty, wanton pussy tightens and juices flow, so too does your ass tighten. He’ll groan louder, pound you harder. Your rectum will begin to burn and hurt, yet your empty cunt will weep even more to be the one he fucks.

You crave it.

Crave the pain. Crave the yearning for your cunt to be used as he’s using and destroying your ass. Crave the thick strands of his come to be filling your aching, empty pussy, instead of the deep abyss of your bowels.

He’ll make you hold it. No shitting this gift out, he’ll say. He’ll want to watch it ooze out of your now-stretched hole in it’s own time. You’ll fart from all the air he thrust inside of you, and you’ll be embarrassed when he teases you about it. If you’re lucky he’ll like your sopping cunt enough to finger you, or lick your throbbing clit until you come apart one last time.

So.

*pauses, takes long breaths*

Pucker up, pussycat.

Yeah.

Pucker.

 

 

 

 

Pussy Burglar (4)

She woke groggy and light-headed.

Where the fuck was she? The light came in from a different angle than she was used to. The bed felt strange. And what was that smell?  Her stomach grumbled, and her pussy throbbed. It all came rushing back to her. The smell of sex. Of cum, semen, sweat. The memory of the man who’d brought her to this sad state of affairs.

Her mark.

Her robbery run amok.

Her fucking captor.

Rising, she tried to take stock of the bruises and aches, but the need to pee made her slide off the edge of the bed. The length of chain fell to the floor beside her with a startling clink, making her gasp as it coiled down the length of the bed. The lock that fastened the chain around her ankle was titanium and used a 7 digit code to open. That fucking bastard. The pee was pressing, so she hobbled towards the bathroom. There was enough chain to get her to the toilet and the shower, but not the tub. The relief of emptying her bladder made her close her eyes, though her girly bits stung as the hot urine hit it. She wondered if there was a thing called “cock burn” on ones pussy lips, raw from over use.

“Goodness, pussycat really needed to piss, didn’t she?”

Shocked, her eyes flew open. Her mouth opened in a round o of disbelief . What the fuck was he doing in here, watching her pee, avidly. He leaned against the door jamb, loose pajama pants riding low on his hips. A dark arrow of hair pointed below the waistband, hinting at the weapon that lay beneath the cotton plaid.

“Get out!” she hissed, bending over as if to shield herself from his gaze.

“I’ve seen every inch of you. No point in hiding. And I need to piss myself.”

“You can certainly go piss yourself,” she hissed. He moved forward, towards the toilet. She shrank back.

“I’m not done…no…geezuz…”  A soft moan came as he took out his shaft and began pissing. On her. He sprayed her tits, the junction of thighs and pussy, her face. She held up her hand; he pissed on the palm.

“No ugh! NO!”

A squirt of pee hit her cheek, into her mouth as she protested. Before she could spit, his hand slapped over her mouth.

“Swallow.”

Her eyes glared at him, then welled with tears as his hand stayed firmly planted over her lips. His gaze was that one often described in romance novels…steely. The small amount of pee in her mouth was sharp, bitter, warm. Fuck him. She tried forcing it out her lips, but his hand was too hard-pressed against them. Too add insult to injury, his dick continued to drizzle warm piss onto her lap. She whimpered behind his hand, tried to shake her head, tried to stop the fucking bastard. His free hand grabbed her nose, sealing it shut.

“You want to breathe, swallow.”

She struggled. But he had her pinned, stuck on the toilet with his piss covering her.

She swallowed, choking as he released her nose.

“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it, kitten?”

“I hate you.”

He smiled at her, patted her head. Grabbing her earlobe, he pulled her upright.

“Someone made a horrible mess in here. If you expect to eat, you’d best get busy cleaning it all up.”

He never looked back as she threw her middle finger at him. He paused, mid-stride. As quickly as it had gone up, she whipped her hand behind her back.

“Oh, and kitten, do wash yourself up too. You reek.”

Too furious to reply she settled for slamming the door, only to yelp as it sprang back from the chain blocking it, striking her toe.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” she whined, as her toe throbbed. Other parts of her throbbed too. How she hated him.

 

Loser

this is normally the sort of thing I might put on Dark Fantasies…but yanno…sometimes the dragons have a mind of their own…~nilla~

She shuddered as she heard footfalls coming down the hallway, the creak of the door opening. She wished she’d followed through on her first desire, that of a nice warm bubble bath, candles flickering, and an early bed. Damn her friends for suggesting a night out was the best way to get over her annoyance with Andy.

Damn her for her half-drunk boast that she could beat anyone in the bar at darts.

As the footsteps came closer, she closed her eyes and prayed.

******************************************

“Andy is an asshole for breaking up with you.”

“I told you. He didn’t break up with me. He didn’t call, text or anything for 4 days. I am thinking of breaking up with him.”

They didn’t know, of course, that he was a Dom, that she was his slut. They didn’t know, nor would she tell them, that they had talked about this. Or rather, that he had talked, and she knelt at his feet and listened. He had told her that she was expected to deal with his absence, to be a good girl. They didn’t know that he was not a fan of pouting, or carrying on.

And definitely  not a fan of her anger or outrage.

She’d known he was going to be away on business. She’d known that he would mostly be out of contact. But she hadn’t known how hard it would be for him to be gone for so long, without a single, needed, craved, word.

“Neglectful bastard!”

Her two friends had shown up at her door unexpectedly. The tub was empty, the candles unlit. There went her quiet evening. She wanted to sit and sulk, pout and cry. They all but dragged her into her room, dug through her closet, tossing clothing with abandon. Outfits were examined, discussed, discarded. Finally pleased with the low-cut red tank with sparkly shoulder straps and the black skinny jeans, they finished the outfit off with a black silk shirt, buttoned just enough to show off the cleavage and red tank beneath.

“Pretty panties and a push-up bra to show off your assets–and who knows, you could score.”

“Revenge sex is the best,” nodded Vera.

“You two…I just want a bath and a good cry…”

“No crying over crummy boyfriends. Nope, trust me, you need out time. You want to be strutting your stuff and showing the world that you don’t give a fuck about that jerk.”

She sighed. She knew there was perhaps a nugget of truth in those words. And gods above, Lorrie had been through more boyfriends in a year than she had in a decade. Maybe there was something to what she said.

Already Lorrie was digging through her lingerie drawer, picking out black lace undies and matching bra. She tossed them at Maggie.

“Here, this’ll give you HUMUNGEOUS cleavage. Your girls will look fantastic bulging out of that.” She pointed to the red tank top. “You have the best tits, Mags. I’d be fucking jealous if I didn’t have the better ass.”

Maggie had to laugh. Lorrie was outrageous, sexy, sensual, the prototypical wild child. Knowing it was futile to argue with her, she began dressing, even as Vera sorted through her shoes.

“I don’t know if I want to kill you or kiss you,” she said, looking at herself in the mirror. She looked hot. Amazing what these two could do with her limited wardrobe. And Vera had done something sexy with her eyes, something smokey and languid, while Lorries cherry red lipstick gleamed on her mouth.

“I look like …”

“Stunning. Just short of whorish, if I do say so myself.” Lorrie fluffed her own hair, then grabbed her friends by the arm, steering them out the door.

“Let’s not waste all this gorgeous girl glam on your wallpaper–time to go out and get some honey.”

***************************************

The bar was just that close to being a dive, a setting that perfectly matched their slut-like dressing. The beer was cold, the lighting, dim. They’d certainly been hit on multiple times; both of her friends grinding it out on the dance floor. A shadow fell across the table.

“Wanna dance?”

Her feet were killing her already. Having no desire to further punish them, she shook her head.

“Darts?”

“Well,” she half drawled, feeling a curious itch. “I don’t know. I’m the best damned darts player you’ll  ever see. I’d hate to hurt your manly pride by giving you a bowl of whoop-ass.”

She had no idea where the sudden bravado came from, but looking at the bottles on the table, she had a suspicion that they were hops-borne.

“That so? Well, how’s about you prove that?”

She pushed away from the table, rising. Whoa. She was even more drunker now that she’d attempted to stand up. Was drunker even a word, she wondered? Blinking, she held onto the edge of the table, then smiled up at the guy who was gonna get trounced.

And trounce she did. Game one, over and done, won handily. He took it with good grace, buying her another beer. Challenged, she played another. And another. The faces blurred, but the guys surrounding her were cheering her on. They were surrounding her, and if she thought she occasionally felt a hand caressing her ass, she shrugged it off. She was in the zone.

A voice from behind her issued the bet.

“You win, you get to pick one of us to take home with you tonight. I win, I get to do whatever I want with you.”

In her inebriation, and growing hornyness, it sounded like a win-win to her.

“yup…you’re on.”

She turned, but her competitor’s face was a blur. He thrust out his hand, shook hers.

“Game on!”

Taking up her first dart she made a throw. This dart felt heavier than her first few had. Too much beer, she mused, as the dart nosed down and barely hit the board.

He threw, scoring in a double.

She threw, trying hard to figure out which of the two boards she was now seeing was the right one. Her throw was wide to the left, and she moaned.

He scored a bullseye.

When she felt her hand taken in his for the final handshake, she knew she’d done the inconceivable.

She’d lost.

“A pretty bracelet for the lady.”

He closed the cool metal around her wrist, making the cuff tight.

His words were tinged with dark meaning. She was tugged down the hallway to the bathrooms. They passed the woman’s room, and though she balked when they paused in front of the men’s room, he easily pulled her inside.

“You get to be the toilet mascot. Pretty slut.”

Did she know that voice? It was familiar, she thought. But there was a hum in her head. And a tingle in her pussy. Maybe he would fuck her. That’d teach her Sir, the bastard.  Ignoring her, going away like that. She had needs, she did.  Her nipples ached they were so hard. She was so fucking buzzed. Not enough drunk to not know she was in the boy’s room. Enough to not struggle when he pushed her into the handicapped bath stall and secured the other end of the handcuff on the security railing. She stared at it curiously, tugged it, turned a quizzical face to him. Wished she could see him, and  not with the blur and whirl of her besotted state. He was tall. Maybe handsome? She saw teeth, figured he was smiling. The sound of the cuff on the metal railing made her look down at her hand.

“Whazzat?”

He pushed her to her knees, squatting, he tugged her tank top down, then pulled her tits free.

“Wai–wazzat…what…”

“You’re a fucking mess. Open your mouth.”

His cock filled her hot, drunk mouth. When she would have pulled away, his hands grabbed her hair, holding her steady. Gagging as his cock slid down the back of her throat, she tugged her wrist. Secured. Stuck. Her free hand flopped around, but he grabbed it, holding it as he took her mouth. Pulling away, he squirted his cum onto her face, her tits.

“Now, about that other hand,” he said, and pulling his belt from his pants, secured her hand to the other bar.

He walked out.

****************************************************

Her throat hurt. There was vomit now, joining the cum and piss on her clothing. Some really big dicks had slid between her lips, large enough to make her not only gag, but hurl. They’d laughed, even as they had dodged out of the way of her sputum. Several had come in and just pissed on her. She was cold, half-sober, and wanted to go home.

Footsteps were the harbingers of another round. She prayed he wouldn’t come down to this stall. There was a pause. Then the splash of piss into the urinal. Thank goodness. Her throat hurt. She needed to go  home.

*********************************************************************

An hour later, more blow jobs had made her throat raspy and raw, she cried softly. There was a split on the corner of her lips where two fucktards had tried to shove both their cocks into her mouth at the same time. She was cold. She stank of cum and piss and puke. She felt the drying crust on her skin, the itching making her wild.

She shuddered as she heard footfalls coming down the hallway, the creak of the door opening. She wished she’d followed through on her first desire, that of a nice warm bubble bath, candles flickering, followed by an early bed. Damn her friends for suggesting a night out was the best way to get over her pique with Andy.

Damn her for her half-drunk boast that she could beat anyone in the bar at darts.

As the footsteps came closer, she closed her eyes and prayed.

The door opened slowly.

He stood there, staring at her, a curious smile on his face.

“Little slut had enough? You’re a fucking mess. Let’s get you home now. I sent your friends on their way.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“I know.”

She sniffed back tears as Andy unfastened her wrists, and taking a hunk of hair, tugged her to her feet.

“There’s a shower in the back. You’re not stinking up my car with your pissy self. Of course, you have to pay Fred for the use of it, but what’s another cock in your mouth, right?”

A long glide of a dark tear slid down her cheek. Mascara and liner had streaked her cheeks with black. His finger smeared one line, wrote across her soiled tits.

“Andy’s slut.”

bj

“Sit. No, right there on the toilet.”

“Sir?” (her voice quivers nervously. she has a real hang-up about pissing when others can hear it)

“You need to pee. I need a blowjob. We’ll take care of both things at the same time. Get comfortable, I think it could take some time before I feel like cumming.”

(crimson-faced, she stares up at Him. she knows that He can hold off an orgasm for a long while, longer than she could hold the urgent need of her bladder)

“B.b.but…”

“There are no ‘but’s’ little slut. Only the one sitting on the potty. Such a pretty little thing you are, all little-girl faced and needing to pee.”

(the blush deepens, spreads)

“One other thing. If you fart, I’m going to pull my cock out of your mouth and slap your face. Farting in front of your Sir is inappropriate, wouldn’t you say? No pooping unless you ask, first. Do you need to pop a poo from your butt?”

(horrified, she has no inkling of how to answer. who didn’t sometimes poop a bit when they peed? how could she ask such a humiliating thing?)

“i….i….”

(how she wanted to drop her eyes, stare at His shoes, have the floor open up and swallow her whole)

“i’m not sure, Sir. Maybe?”

“Maybe there’s poo in your ass? Should we check first?”

“NO! Sir, please no…”

(His laugh is loud and deeply amused. If one could die of embarrassment, she knew she’d be six-foot-under by now)

“Alright, little slut. One more thing.”

(He reaches between her slightly opened thighs and probes her pussy. A shiver runs through her at the familiar touch even as shame, and the brilliant heat of embarrassment floods her.)

“As I thought.”

(He wipes His hand across her tits, slicking them with her own pussy juice.)

“Shall we begin?”

(she opens her mouth to receive His cock, fighting the need to pee, even as she savors the flavor of Him on her tongue.)

(He leans into her, pushing His shaft into her mouth deeply. And reaching the handle of the faucet, turns the water on.)

 

Camp Nekkink ch. 16

They lounged in her sleeping bag, nestled so tightly to one another that it was hard to see where he ended and she began. His cock was buried deeply in her cunt, further blurring the lines  separating them. One notable difference was the sparkle of metal on her neck, faint light from the dawning day glistening on the “D” ring that lay at the front of her new collar.

He spoke softly into her ear, blowing a soft huff of breath into the whorls and causing a shiver of response in her.

“Cunt, do you know what today is?”

“mmmmm,” she murmured, raising her ear and cunt to further his ministrations on her body, “Saturday?”

“And do you know what Saturday starts with?” he asked, teasing those whorls with the tip of his tongue.

She giggled, shivered some more, causing her cunt to tighten around his cock, making them both moan.

“Fucking?” she asked with a suggestive thrust of her hips, driving him a bit deeper into her wet fuckhole.

“mmmm, good idea, cunt,” he whispered into her ear, “but no, I meant, what letter does Saturday start with.”

She moaned as he pulled out halfway, then slowly, ever so slowly slid his thick cock back into her cunt, roughly rubbing her clitoris with the angle of his thrust.

“S!”  she finally managed to gasp out, “Saturday starts with ‘s’ ! ”

“Not for you!”  he announced gaily, rolling suddenly off of her,

“for you, my sweet cunt,  Saturday begins with Pee!” Laughing, he pulled her from the sleeping bag with startling strength. Grasping her slim wrist in his large hand, he used the other to unzip the tent door, and thrust her before him. When she wiggled and tried to evade him, he scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder, giving her ass a firm swat, commanding her to “be still or be dragged”.

His long strides ate up the yardage up the pathway from their tent to the bathroom. Outside the bathroom was a kiddie pool. Already there was pee in it. Unceremoniously, he dumped her from his shoulder into the pool, jumping away as her ass landing in the puddle caused a small spash of yellow to froth across the bottom of the pool.

“EEEWWWWWWWWW!” She gasped, grossed out and suddenly chilled. The day was not cold like yesterday had been,  the late August heat finally arriving at camp, but the urine in the pool was no longer warm.

“It’s cold!” she protested, wrapping her arms around herself, and shivering in overdramatic fashion. “Why, Master?” she pleaded.

He put his hand out to stop her before she could protest further.

“I told you yesterday when you chose to not join the other slave that was suffering here, that today would be your turn, slave.” He leaned forward, removed her leather collar, alarming her. “Be still. I am not uncollaring you, merely protecting my investment.” He reached into his pajama pocket, withdrawing a thin metal chain. He used the lock from her ‘good’ collar, and secured the chain around her neck. “There,  now you won’t ruin the leather. Pee is so hard to get out of good leatherwork!” He laughed at the expression on her face.

“Oh slave, you amuse me. ” His pleasure was evident on his face, and she could see he was even getting an erect…no….no

“Let’s see if I can warm you up a bit, cunt,” and without further ado, he pulled out his cock and began peeing on her. He aimed for her face, grinning as the splash of hot urine dashed across her nose, splashing her eyes. She cried out and gasped at the sting of his piss in her eyes, tears gathering quickly to wash the stuff away, and to show her humiliation. Before He had finished emptying his morning bladder on her, a second master had come up and was pissing on her back.

“I’ll be back for you later, cunt, but you’ll be in my line of sight, so no moving until I return.” She nodded her assent, head bowed. She sat there, pissed on by masters and their slaves. A mistress came up, mashed her pubes against her cheek and let loose a torrent of urine against her face. Grabbing her by the hair, the Mistress then ordered Corinne to lick her dry. Disturbingly enough, this rough and disguisting treatment made her cunt twitch, and she swore she could feel herself oozing into the pool which was becoming much deeper than she had ever imagined it could.

At long last, Master returned. He surveyed his dripping, piss covered slave, and smiled down at her.

“You are one fuckingly disguisting pet, you know that?” She nodded, greatly subdued.

He chucked her under the chin. “What’s up, cunt?” he asked, reading into her silence.

She shot him a glance from under dripping bangs. Glared at him.

“I’m horny.” she stated in a petulant tone. “I didn’t think something this gross would make me horny.”

He laughed. Threw back his head and guffawed, bent over and slapped his thigh. She stood, arms crossed, toes nearly tapping (but she decided that wouldn’t be a good move just now) and glared at him some more.

“I’m so very glad I amuse you,” she spoke acidly.

“Oh, cunt,” he said, wiping laughter tears from his face. He grasped her by the back of her neck and guided her into the bathroom. He thrust a bag at her, her toiletry bag she noted with surprise.

“Shower. Now. Immediately. I wouldn’t fuck you at this moment,  for any reason!”     He fanned his hand in front of his face.   “Sorry, cunt, but you smell worse than a men’s room in the bar on  ‘free round for every touchdown’  night!”

“Sorry? Sorry….?? ” she sputtered, but his  hand on her neck pushed her into the ladies room, and he firmly closed the door in her face. His voice receeded as he strolled away. “Don’t come out until you smell like your regular sweet self!” She swore she heard the brute chuckling.

He was chuckling. Wait until she saw the pictures!