The Piss Slave's Punishment

This story follows on from The Piss Slave's Confessional, which it is advised you read prior to this story. It is just a short letter. Sent some time ago in real life. Here is the response.

***

Everyone was caught up in the mood of the city that evening. You could sense the relief of the workers. Exorcising workplace daemons and purging themselves of the contempt of their colleagues through ritualised inebriation. Drinking a skin full. A normal Friday night. Except it wasn't.

The early summer heat was a surprise and helped heady revellers glide on its plumes from bar to bar and from parks and riverside benches to clubs and shows. Occasional bars and night spots had sprung up and upset the usual geography of the city centre, luring and ensnaring tourists and unsuspecting locals inside.

But relaxed it wasn't. In fact it was slightly menacing. In a world where seemingly everyone had a grievance and society's mature sense of love and understanding had been ditched for a teenage, or perhaps toddler's sense of injustice and retribution, people were letting off steam. I kept my eyes down as I headed home from a show I'd been in. I just needed to get home without any bother, have a shower, wind down and get rid of the performer's adrenalin with a smoke and turn in as early as possible. Although it was a Saturday, I was modelling for an arts club at 9 am.

In my loft space I stood at an open window to dry off from the shower and listened to the hubbub from the streets below. Students, tourists, workers and beggars, all ten times larger and louder than they were this time the night before.

It was clear my flat mates were out too. I live with two women. Not in that sense. Never even thought about it that way. Ha. No, they are both in relationships with very lucky young men. Both of them work in theatre and the arts too. As do most of the rest of the tenants in this block, in this part of town. It's that kind of city. Open-minded extroverts working for peanuts, but plying their trade at least, for richer, excitement starved visitors.

I had the whole apartment complex to myself but I wasn't in the mood for loud music or any adventures. I was tired but still buzzing as I completed minor housework and prepared my kit for tomorrow morning. I poured myself a large rye whiskey, tossed in a couple of cubes and went over to the sofa to roll. I was just about to light up when you rang. I saw your name on the screen and I froze. It was late. What the Hell?

"Hi, Jane. You okay?" I asked immediately, having overcome my fear of picking up.

"Well I was, until some idiot and his wife, or whatever, decided to ruin the lovely night out I'd been having with Julia. You remember Julia? The plumber. Well, she rang me up out of the blue and we ended up going for some Japanese food. Then after that a few drinks. We went to a really nice pub called, um, called, I can't remember, with live music and ornate, vintage chamber pots hanging from the ceiling and, you probably know the place, and well, anyway..."

It was clear I was not expected to join in on this conversation. I settled in for an extended, meandering account. Probably leading to some personal effrontery or incident whereby Jane had justifiably got angry and bit some stupid, or should I say unfortunate, person's head off.

It had been some time, hadn't it? A year? Two? Since she had last rung me to vent spleen. To be honest, that was a good thing as I knew what I was in for for the next 45 minutes to an hour. If I remembered correctly there would not only be an entirely predicable sequence to the events she would outline but also in the manner they were recounted. Angry, drunken and in one direction, at me.

"...and then this red-faced bore came over to our table and accused us of having taken his seat. His lady-friend was a right bitch. She started accusing us of having pushed past her, which made her spill her drink."

Yes, this all sounded like a normal evening you get with Jane. Raucous behaviour and laughter usually leading to someone wanting to confront her. Usually unwisely, as they were soon to find out. I'd been in this situation with her many times before. Maybe this was why she was ringing me up to sound off. Or maybe something else? No, don't even go there.

"...so Julia, happily agreed to buy her another glass of wine, while I told her partner, in no uncertain terms, how getting enraged with us was a pre-civilised form of chest beating and if he didn't want to lose any more face he'd take his pathetic male entitlement with him and... Back Off!"

I could hear her stomping her way through town as she off-loaded. Her footsteps marching in rhythm to her angry delivery, keeping the emotion steady but fierce. I settled back down and continued to listen but with the phone a little further from my ear. I wasn't expected to say anything, and was frankly scared to stop her flow. It was exciting, scary and tantalising and brought back many memories. At the same time, I did need to stop and chill after a long day. I continued to half-listen.

"...after we'd had a word with the bar staff, we carried on chatting away together and catching up on some news. Oooh. You wouldn't believe it? Do you remember Peter, Julia's partner?"

"Yes, of course," wow, I'd got some words in.

"Well, he's about to start a new job at a place you know very well. You'll never guess. Give it a go anyway."

I couldn't work out if this was a real request or purely rhetorical. However, before I could even interject with an um or ah sound, Jane continued. Continued in a way that completely changed the whole scenario. Changed me. Into someone unable to respond at all. An excited, breathless mess.

"Look, while you are trying to guess, why don't you let me in downstairs? I'm just approaching your building now and I need to use your toilet if I may, I'm not going to make it all the way home. You could pour me a stiff drink after as well, to help me on my way."

With that, she hung up and I felt a heady bubble burst and rise within me. Like a hit of poppers. Fizzy bubbles rising into me head. Making me feel giddy and nervous with extreme anticipation. I could hardly breath. My diaphragm was on a go-slow. Could this be what I think it might be? I had to dispel that thought. No expectations. Anything is a bonus. Just alluding to it is enough. Is she serious? Or teasing? Or oblivious? Doesn't matter. All three are good. I am lucky.

I decided not to clear up, scrub my teeth or put on the Miles Davies. This was just a perfunctory interaction with an old friend. I needed to get her out of my place and on her way as soon as possible, otherwise I'd be carrying tiredness and stress with me from early tomorrow through a very busy weekend. She's just going to talk at me loudly, de-stress herself and then go. And help herself to my whiskey. I probably won't even hear from her for months or years after this. No, it's not about the letter. No. You should never think about that. Ever.

I sauntered down the stairs as casually as can be. It is my turf. I'm safe here. I have nothing to hide or justify. I am my own man and she's my guest.

"Yes, well I'm just heading home now. I won't be long I just need to visit a few people or the way home. Never you mind. Make sure you clean the dishes after you eat your supper. And another thing..."

Who was she talking to, I wondered, but as I opened the door she was already on the phone to someone else and without eye contact she breezed in immediately upon being given access. Almost pushing past me brusquely you could say. Not that I would advise mentioning that to her. No no.

Her abruptness did at least result in her ascending the stairs before me. She had such a cute ass, irrespective of age. Always had and she knew it and loved to show it off. Here it was in a little black dress that was actually in teal. Shapely contours shifting as she rose, still on the phone but with her ass talking loudly to me.

"You'd like to squeeze me open wide and bury your face in me wouldn't you? I'd rub me all over your face and if you're good I'll make you tongue this ass-hole till your tendons snap. Worship this ass. Commit yourself to it. Look at it and love it, it's the nearest you'll ever get to it again."

Fuck, that's as loud as it's spoken to me for a while. Is she aware and if so, is this a more than usual tease? Or is this all me? Damn. I wanted no more than an early night. I didn't ask for this. Or maybe...no! Forget it!

By the time we'd made it upstairs I was transfixed, supple, passive and completely open to suggestion. She had all the initiative and none of the nerves. I felt sick. I let her into the apartment. I look around desperately looking for something safe and solid to cling on to, found my whiskey and froze at the window while she walked around my living space purposefully but with an inebriated swagger, helping herself to an extra large glass of my whiskey and getting increasingly loud and agitated with the person she held in conversation. I wanted her to be here but really I didn't. She was getting more aggressive word by word. A measured menace. In a precise and certain tone. Maybe some music I thought but then realised my heart was racing and all I was doing was panicking. I was stuck. Lead in my shoes.

Then she turned round suddenly after criss crossing the room and stopped. She continued, this time with her phone pressed to her ear, and her other arm resting on her jutted out hip, a hand expertly holding her drink. Was she looking straight at me? I was almost trembling on the outside now.

"Don't you dare speak to me like that. I am not having that. Especially from you. If you think you can say that to me, when it has not come up between us for so long. How dare you? You have no right. I know what you are doing. And. It. Is. Unforgivable. And. Totally. Out of the question."

The phone was dismissively tossed to the far corner of an oblique sofa. The drink exchanged hands, and the hips shifted sides as she finished the glass. The fixed gaze remained. It burned into me.

Silence.

"Pah. Why are people all so pathetic?"

I couldn't answer. Of course, I couldn't answer.

Jane just stood there and looked me up and down. This was serious.

A slight curl to the lip. A grin. And then she was swishing boldly towards me and right up to my face.

"I can't remember where your toilet is."

That's when my world went crashing in on itself, melting away and turning me into a senseless blathering slut. It didn't matter what happened now. Even if she left right this instant, I would replay this moment over and over to excite and act as a trigger to bring me to this state again. Oh those words.

"I can't remember where your toilet is."

My focus was timeless and you were just a shape. Was this real? Could this be? Had she read it?

She's prompting you to expose yourself. To her ridicule. You know what you want to say. No. You can't say it. It's too dangerous. Never. What am I doing? Breathe. Focus. This is a simple request. Point. You can at least point.

"Vaguely over there, is it? Hum?"

"Second left. Um. Yeah, I think."

"You think? You do live here don't you?"

She was still standing up close. Swaying a little, and looking beautiful, ravishing and fearsome. Strong features and superbly athletic body. Sparkly blue eyes. She was a head turner. Always had been.

I desired her so much. Of all my varied sexual partners and encounters over the years I just couldn't stop her from invading my fantasies. My darkest ones. The gateway to my turning.

That body. I can't rationalise the effect it has on me. Pure lust.

Or is it the peculiar evolution of our sexual dance. The great sex leading to infrequent sex with lots of teasing, leading to no sex at all with teasing that was somewhat cruel. Debasing. Humiliating. And I let it happen. And I Love it.

She was holding the empty tumbler and raising it to me. Offering it and smiling. Huh? Surely not.

"Fill this for me."

I held the tumbler, and so did she.

Bliss. Shame. I was squirming inside.

"Another large one."

A siren starting up in the distance mixing with the hubbub of drunken voices wafted through the window as the air from the room, and my breath in it's entirety, swapped places.

She smirked. Sighed even.

I felt so helpless. Mocked.

Then she was off. Leaving me there to remember exactly where I was and what I was supposed to be doing. My heart was racing. I spilled the Bulleit '95' rye in my haste, and just stood there. Fixed to the spot. I could hear you.

You must've kept the door open. I gulped in air.

You were pissing. Loud and with force. You'd obviously been telling the truth earlier about needing a pit stop.

This was all stupid. Just a game. I'm stupid. To have even hoped, minutely hoped. I'm an idiot.

Oh but that stream. I wished I was there. Watching. Or had my phone to hand to record the sound. Anything.

Instead the moment was beautiful. Disappointing. Exquisite torture. Over.

I returned to a form of almost normal self. I cleaned up the pool of whiskey off the table and rearranged some items. Half-thinking of sparking up but knowing I had been instructed to re-fill her drink.

This could all end easily now. Give her her drink and get her out of here. She could be here hours without any hint of her being nice to me. A tone of displeasure with all people being taken out on me. Through this contempt I could not expect any favours. No pity. No charity. Just spite and anger. Yet I'd sit there and take it all. Wait on her every word. Reading into every movement of her body a gesture meant for me. For my pleasure.

Was she angry with me for the letter? Has she read it? Is this revenge or reward?

I couldn't process what was going on or what my true feelings were? I just needed to facilitate her leaving as smoothly and as politely as possible. Maybe I should light up?

I could hear her walking down the corridor towards me. Quick. Get the drink.

Two people careered towards each other, from different locations. Were they destined to collide? How would this work? Both had gifts from the other. Both had asked in completely different ways. Entitlement hang by a thread. Only one was in control.

She was. Oh fuck. Oh. She was already holding the tumbler? I didn't understand. Had she helped herself to another while I was away in slave dreams?

Jane was striding towards me. Scowling and purring with foreboding. She was carrying a tumbler.

Yes. In it was. Her piss. It must be. She has brought me a glass of her piss. Her piss...

"Thank you, thank you, tha..."

"Shut up," she said witheringly. "I don't want to hear a peep out of you. Give me my whiskey. Good. Now lower your eyes. I didn't say you could look at me. Look at the glass."

She lowered her glass of piss, equidistant between my feet, onto the hardwood floor and a few inches away.

Almost a third of a glass. I guessed she had helped herself to a glass when she was first marauding around my place. She must have set this all up. The thought that her angry phone call with the stranger earlier had been a hoax also began to dawn.

Her urine. In front of me. I sky-dived and submerged myself in it like a mental acrobat. I convinced myself I could smell it. Taste it. I was so happy. Whatever happens now.

She was talking. I wasn't listening but I soon was when she snapped me back into the now when she forcibly grabbed my hair. Grabbed it even harder and twisted me, contorting me down to my knees.

"Get on your fucking knees and keep your eyes on the glass. Did I tell you to stop? Now look at it. I'm not going to say what it is. I know that'll make you fucking come right on the spot, right?. Pathetic perve. Look at it. Worship it. Drink it into your soul. Because it is the last time you'll ever see it."

What was she saying?

"How dare you communicate with me in that manner. Who do you think you are? Do you want to please me or make me fucking angry? Well you've done it now. You won't ever get the pleasure again, will you? This your last ever glass. Now, take your trousers off. Take them off! And I don't want to hear you speak."

She lashed out and kicked me, several times as I was trying to get my jeans off over my hard on. Half kneeling, half standing. Had I spoken? Who cares? Pointy, going out shoes in my ribs and flank.

"Now get back on your knees. Yes. And spread them."

She ushered me on, using her feet to kick my knees apart, exposing the hardest of dicks, dripping with pre-cum.

"Put your hands together behind your head and close your eyes. Tilt it back. Further."

She grabbed my hair and yanked my head back.

"Now open your mouth. Wider. Wider. Is that as far as it goes. I don't think that's going to be good enough."

I was panting like a whore. Your bitch slut. Your piss slave. You could do anything to me. I strained my mouth and adjusted my jaw to make it go wider. Wider.

You bent down but still grabbed hold of my hair. Were you picking up the glass? I was shaking in pleasure and anticipation. When you started toying with my cock too, I so nearly came.

On my knees and naked from waist down. My cock being stroked by your shoe. Hands behind my head, eyes shut. Mouth wide. A glass of your piss held above me, tipped as if ready to pour. The scene of scenes.

"You don't deserve this. This is too good for you. Which is why it is your last. Now groan for it."

I uttered guttural sounds of sheer lust and compliance. Anything for this.

"Nope, not good enough. I am not happy with you. You don't deserve to drink my...my..."

The whole glass. Not tipped. Or lapped. Or dribbled. The whole glass thrown in my face! I gasped, half-opened my eyes in shock and frantically curled my tongue over the delicious droplets and rivulets of your golden juices splashed all over my face. You still held my hair. Wrestled with me as if I was a wild animal under your control. Yanked my head down to the hardwood floor. Held it there in a tiny puddle of drips with the empty glass to the side. Held me down hard. My wet face. The floor getting wetter as my damp hair drips onto it.

You let go and now I feel your pointy, bitty sole press down on my right cheek. Grinding my face into the pissy floor. I wanted to lick it all up. Instead I had some taste of you on my tongue. My mouth was savoured with your perfume. I could still lick some off the corner of my mouth as tiny drops accumulated there.

You took your foot off my face and I heard movements. Next thing I know you have lowered yourself down onto my right cheek with force. Almost a slam. Onto my upturned cheek. It was warm. It was your crotch. I could feel. Surely not. Skin! You had your hot pussy on my face. Small hairs bristled near my temple. Something hot wet and slick slid over my nose. And then you pressed down harder. Had you raised your legs momentarily? I was pinned between your hot, wet pussy and your cold wet piss.

"I hope you did what I told you to?" She was on the phone again.

"Good. I'll be coming home shortly."

I could hear her sparking up my joint, which she took huge drags from in between conversing, this time much softer, with the person on the other end. Every now and then she would flick it and I could feel the ash bounce off my face. She was also slurping down her whiskey. My whiskey.

"I'm going to give you a present. If everything has been done, when I get home I'm going to let my good girl suck both my holes. All night. Yes. Just for you. You deserve it. No, don't thank me, you can thank me with your tongue. Now get yourself ready as normal. I'll be less than half an hour."

She ended the call. Continued to smoke. Held me there. But not long. She ground herself a little bit into me but distractedly so. Then she was up. Off of me. Placed her shoe where her wet cunt had been.