I expected another bottle to be placed against my lips, but this was it. No more.
The silence returned.
I was forced to move my body slightly as cramp was reaching my left foot, and the water inside me sloshed from side to side.
Christ! I realized what they were up to. And the moment I did, there was nothing I could do to stop it. Or slow it down.
With my legs wide apart and my cunt still splayed open, there was no holding back the urine and it roared out of me like a jet, splashing loudly all over the stone floor. My face must have been redder than beetroot at that moment, as I suffered this impossible humiliation. Would it ever end? My pee kept on coming and coming, its stream still gushing out like a geyser, splashing my thighs and my stockings, cascading over my shoes. On and on and on. Finally, my bladder exhausted itself and the stream came to a spluttering end.
I felt bad, used, dirty. What would they do next? I already imagined the most diabolical perversions. And something in me, deep inside, was already looking forward to it, while the more sensible – civilized? – part of me was damn angry, eager for revenge. I had never been able to control my anger well. It had always done me much disservice.
“Isn’t she just beautiful?” I heard my lover say.
“Yes,” replied another man. “Great arse. Just love that dark mole right on the bottom curve of those cheeks. I’d love to bite it off.”
I shuddered.
Another: “That cunt seems nice and tight.”
“But it’s quite accommodating,” my lover said. “She’ll take a lot.”
“And at the rear,” a woman asked, “has she any experience?”
“Not with me,” my lover said. “She never wanted to. But when she betrayed me with the other, I know they tried it.”
“And that is why you want her punished, is it?” an older man’s voice asked.
“Yes,” my dark lover said. “And don’t even tell me it’s petty, I know that already.”
“So be it,” the older man said.
I heard steps, and a door close. They wanted me to believe my lover had left, but I knew he would stay and watch. I could still feel his silent presence and his eyes feasting on the indecent spectacle of my bare flesh. Brightly conscious of the pornography of the fact that my upper body was still fully clothed, while my lower half wantonly displayed itself, wet stockings stuck to my legs, the strong smell of urine and fear surrounding me, held apart like a sacrificial offering, like a piece of meat, devoid of all will…
“Ready her.”
A regiment of hands trooped over my body. The soiled stockings were peeled off, and the high-heeled shoes. The ropes were lengthened somewhat so that shoeless, I was still forced to stand on the tip of my toes to support myself. Scissors cut through the garter belt and the blouse and the brassiere strap, and the remaining flaps of shredded material were pulled away from me.
I was totally nude.
They tightened the band across my eyes. There was no hint of light.
The whip came first.
I’d read the books, seen the films, I know. This I somehow expected. But the pain was still hard to bear and I knew that my rear by the end must be a garish spectacle of crisscrossed red Mondrian patterns. I counted the blows. Thirty in all. Then a few gentler ones against my breasts, making my tips now impossibly erect. I think I even managed to pee a bit more when the last few lashes of the whip caught the outer edge of my crotch.
“She can take the pain,” someone said.
Then my ankles, still wide apart, were seized and fastened to the floor where they must have fitted metal loops.
Hands reached for my cunt and held my lips apart, while an acolyte began brushing me with some sort of sticky liquid over my whole genital area. And forcibly poured further quantities of the gooey stuff into me, using at least two or three fingers and stretching my opening even more. What was it?
They relaxed the ropes holding my arms and a gentle pressure on my shoulders indicated I should lay down. I did. Thoughtfully, a rug had been laid out on the stone floor and I spread out on it keeping my limbs apart. The contact of my raw behind against the rough surface was a trifle painful at first.
As soon as I was in position, they opened me up even wider, increasing the angle of revelation spreading from my crotch and my breasts, before tethering my ankles to the metal rings, as well as my hands high up behind me. The way I was now, all and sundry could look all the way into me, into the sheer pinkness he always enthused about. The bastard. This wasn’t a joke any longer.
“Bring in the dog.”
I struggled fiercely, but they had me tied down very efficiently and I couldn’t move even the centre of my body. My paltry attempts only served to increase the painful scraping of my well-whipped buttocks against the rug’s coarse material.
“No, not a dog,” I screamed. “You can’t, you just can’t, it’s not… allowed, it’s illegal. It’s, no… Please,” I begged, tears welling up inside my eyes. Which they of course couldn’t see, did not wish to see.
Horrified at the prospect ahead – even in pornographic stories this wasn’t allowed, it overstepped the mark – I had forgotten the earlier ban on my speaking.
“Quiet, bitch.” The man who said this slapped my cheeks several times until I felt blood inside my mouth.
The liquid they had inserted inside my cunt was burning me a bit, felt dreadfully sticky.
I heard muffled steps, movement approaching my outstretched body. Expecting the worse. I knew there was no way I could take this. I’d be sick, surely. Jesus, Jesus, not a dog. It’d tear me apart, injure me. They couldn’t do this to me. Surely? How could my lover allow this? Maybe he was no longer here.
I thought I heard a whirring sound somewhere in the dark background. A camera. They were filming the whole thing. The swine, the bloody fucking bastards.
“Woof, woof,” a woman’s voice, giggling almost uncontrollably. The others all around me all went “Woof, woof in unison. A choir of animals.
A wet, floppy flannel, like a tongue, began slobbering all over my cunt.
Behind it, a real tongue. A woman’s. You recognize those things. Licking me.
The flexible appendage burying itself in my curls, tickling my engorged outer lips. Her lips grazing the skin of my mound as she delved deeper.
“Woof, woof,” the choir continued. The woman’s tongue was licking me clean, with the application of a docile pet, a dog. Must have been honey they had spread inside me. I heaved a huge sigh of relief. Relaxed a touch, as the woman went about her cleaning business. Blushed deeply when her tongue almost corkscrewed through between my lips and began sucking out the goo from inside. Unavoidable excitement steadily rising through me. The woman imitating an animal was oh so thorough as she patiently licked, sucked, nibbled at me to extract every ounce of goodness. And every move of her cunning tongue sent fierce arrows coursing through me; I felt a deep flush spread from my cheeks down to my neck, shoulders and breasts. I was a thousand times madly alive. Ignorant of my mounting fervour, she slaved away, unemotional, systematic, hungry for my taste. My limbs pulled frantically at the restraints; to no avail. My insides were turning to jelly. I even thought for one brief moment that my bowels would let go. The sensations inside me increased exponentially as the woman’s tongue caressed my dilated cunt. My throat tightened. The pressure of her roving tongue switched up to my clitoris and I literally exploded. I came.
Loudly.
Screaming like an animal myself. Too far gone now to remember the previous instructions of silence.
I sighed, following the uncontrollable release.
I wasn’t punished for my shameful outburst.
They had what they wanted: I had been brought to orgasm, not by an animal, but like an animal. Wanton. In full view of their obscene assembly. And not any old orgasm; the best I could remember in ages. Where had the woman learned her skills?
“Interesting,” the voice of the older man was heard again.
The woman’s mouth moved away from my genitals, dropping spittle over my cunt.
